Chasm
by xtrisandfourx
Summary: "There is a chasm between us, a gaping schism that only seems to widen as hard as we try to close the distance. Someday, our combined efforts to reach each other again will lead us both into the abyss."
1. Prologue

**SUMMARY**

**After an overthrow of the unwanted factionless government, the war in Chicago is over. To maintain stability, the faction leaders decide to return to the faction system. Because of this, the sixteen-year-olds that chose that year are sent back to their former factions for nine months.**

**Tris falls into a state of depression after the war and her impromptu breakup that occurred at the end of it, and returning back to Abnegation-to the same house as her traitor brother-doesn't help.**

**Tobias remains in Dauntless, but while he isn't exactly despondent, he does feel out of place. He doesn't fit in and cannot go on with normal life after everything that happened.**

**Then, Choosing Day arrives.**

**And history definitely does not repeat itself when Tris goes through the initiation process with her old friends and enemies, her ex-boyfriend, and the new sixteen-year-olds, while citizens of Chicago are mysteriously dying.**

* * *

TRIS POV

It is hard to let go of that day.

Rain splatters against the window, pulling my attention away from the hot, crumby classroom and the ignorant children that scribble answers down on their papers. I sit among them and watch the droplets trace the glass. They slide down, begging to be let in, before they connect with other drops of water and die at the bottom of the window.

It was raining that day too.

I sigh as quietly as possible as to not disturb the class and focus my mind elsewhere. But try as I might, the only object in the room that can claim my attention at the moment is the repetitive clock that makes me cringe with each tick.

So I slip into the dirty past, where I can at least find some action.

Ironically, the day that the war ended is the day that I lost everything. It is the reason why I am depressed. It is the reason that I lost the only family I had left, or so I believed at the time. It is the reason I am here in this Upper Levels classroom today, my brain rotting with each second I remain idle and get fed useless information.

After I managed to get all the way up to Jeanine's private office and literally fought myself off so that the poison didn't take me, my life fell apart. Jeanine was there, with Tori about to shoot her. I stepped in because Jeanine was the only one who could access her computer, which had vital information about Divergents and the city on it. Tori and I wrestled for the gun—she even bit me—until Tobias barged in with Uriah and a few armed factionless soldiers and broke up the fight.

Taking a deep breath, I glance up at the lights above my head and try to shove him into the deepest part of my mind, but his voice struggles to be heard.

Tobias, my only family, the only person I could trust with anything I asked of him, betrayed me that day as I had betrayed him. He was crushed when he found out that I went behind his back to work with his father. I remember the heinous words that he threw at me for lying and risking my life once again, followed by the two word sentence that caused my heart to drop in my stomach: _We're done_. The dead look in his unforgiving, dark eyes almost made me content with our split.

But he is the only man I've ever loved, so I was not okay with it in the slightest.

Uriah then escorted me downstairs and handed off his weapon to a factionless soldier. It was their plan all along, to collect the guns so that they could have total control over everybody in Erudite, although I know they wanted to go further and take over the city.

When we reached the main level, I found that Christina was fine, aside from the bullet in her leg. I also recognized a few more faces in the crowd. One of them was Lynn, who died that day with Uriah and I by her side.

An Erudite girl next to me bounces her foot against the ground in a nervous manner. I have to grit my teeth to restrain myself from telling her to stop.

Images burn in my mind, first of the fatal wound in Lynn's stomach, and then the coup that occurred just minutes after her death. Jeanine was nearly shot by Evelyn, and she would have been had it not been for the Candor backup she had.

The mind controlled Candor that confronted our group while we were infiltrating Erudite were used by the Erudite to overthrow the shortlived factionless government. They hadn't even gotten to the execution before the Candor stormed the building and commanded everyone to drop their weapons in monotone voices. The factionless had no choice but to surrender.

Chaos ensued. Riots broke out, and Chicago was reduced to an anarchy. With nowhere to go, especially nowhere safe, I stayed with Christina in the Erudite hospital, where she got her leg fixed. It was a miserable time, but at least I had my best friend.

Meanwhile, what was left of the Abnegation leaders joined together to create a "new" government. Within three days, they declared that we would all go back to the type of society that we knew best: the factions.

For the most part, it worked. Everyone returned to their homes. The city settled down. We knew how to make this work; we had before, so surely there would be no problem.

Except for me.

A short Candor boy with glasses slams his pencil down repeatedly on his paper in a frenzy across the room. I try not to judge him, but it is difficult. These people are all my age, and yet they are mentally much younger. While I constantly dwell on the horrid memories of war, they are all hellbent on getting perfect grades like any of this will matter in their lifetime.

Ignoring the constant noise sounding from the clock on the wall, I go back to reflecting.

The Abnegation leaders ordered the sixteen-year-olds that had chosen their new factions that year to return to their former factions. They explained that Erudite did not finish its initiation process, and therefore it was unfair for the initiates to be thrown back in after all of this time. They would not end up in their rightful order, so it would only ensure equality if all of us chose our factions and went through initiation again. It was also claimed that since a war broke out that year, the year of our choosing, there was some fault in our choices and in the system.

Therefore, I was sent back to Abnegation, to the household where I grew up. Caleb came too after he was released from prison after Candor judges found him young and impressionable—in other words, his choices weren't his fault.

I was coerced to live in the house I ran from. I have had to dwell another nine months in the place where my now deceased parents raised me, and where my traitor brother is supposed to live too. It was extremely rough in the beginning, but the fact that Caleb and I have since moved on from his actions has made it bearable.

And still, beneath everything that happened that day, there is an underlying solution that could have prevented everything.

The video on Jeanine's computer was never released. Instead, the device was wiped clean, and it will not be found again.

I was dependent on that video. I could have proven to Tobias that I was correct in risking our relationship for the greater good. We could be together now. I could be in Dauntless, and there could possibly be no more factions.

Maybe I wouldn't be struggling to get out of bed in the morning, or attempting to find every reason to end it all.

Maybe I wouldn't be trapped in a classroom and taking a damn test with a bunch of immature teenagers who have no idea what it is like to survive near-death experiences and still want to take their own life on some days.

"Beatrice?"

I startle, dropping my pencil on top of my incomplete test. It rolls until it falls off the desk, hitting the floor with a thump.

"Sorry, what?" I say, looking up at the nondescript, faction history teacher clad in blue. It is then that I notice that the classroom is empty. The bell must have gone off, clearing the room of students. I must have missed it in my daydreaming haze.

"Are you all right?" she asks, tilting her head and offering me a pitying look. "Do you need more time to finish the test?"

I shake my head before I even check to see how many unanswered questions I have left. "No."

"Would you please just take the time to fill in that last question?" She flashes me an encouraging smile and retreats to her desk at the front of the room.

Carelessly responding to the last question on the test with sloppy handwriting, I slip my bag over my shoulder. Then I deposit the test on her desk on my way out.

The last question on the test was a short answer question. In your opinion, who (which faction) won the most recent war and why?

My answer was one word.

_Nobody_.

* * *

**WHAT IS UP FFN! My account may be new to this site, but I've actually been here for a very, very long time. You may know me on Instagram as trisandfour64!**

**By popular demand, I have decided to post my story here. This one is completed, and my idea for now is to post a chapter with two days in between each update to leave time for everyone to read and comment. I hope you enjoy! ;)**

**Here are some little things to know for the story:**

**This is set after Insurgent, but the ending is very different, as you can tell from this prologue.**

**Tris and Tobias actually slept together the night she left for Erudite. (Makes you hate her more for doing it, right?)**

**WARNING: This story contains discussion of suicide and self-harm, swearing, and suggestive themes.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Divergent series or any of its characters.**


	2. Chapter 1

TRIS POV

Every morning before the crack of dawn, when the sky is a fading navy, I am awake.

Freedom is not a common luxury in Abnegation—it never was—and I do not take it for granted. I am allowed one time of the day where I don't have to be squeezed into the mold that they try to fit me in, where I don't have to pretend to be something I'm not.

Before school or chores or whatever the hell they want me to torture myself with, I run.

It is convenient that I was wearing my Dauntless clothes when I returned to Abnegation because I have kept them ever since for this activity. I can't exactly exercise in gray slacks or a dress, the standard uniform. Luckily I get to wear a tank top, a jacket, skinny jeans, and combat boots when I go running, all black of course.

If I were to get caught in this selfish act that is purely for my pleasure, they wouldn't do anything besides have a leader reprimand me. Dauntless patrols just mistake me for an average Dauntless member going on a jog though, so I don't get in trouble with them either. Any neighbors that have seen me returning home haven't mentioned anything to anyone as far as I know. The only people I have to worry about is an occasional jogger. It is a very fortunate situation.

This morning is a clear one, and the air is filled with the natural scent of the earth because of the rain yesterday. I take a deep breath of it when I step outside and let it cleanse my lungs before I begin my run.

Today will be my last run in Abnegation, and my last day of school. Today I will take the aptitude test, and tomorrow I will receive enough exercise opportunities on my way to the Dauntless compound.

The thought of leaving this stifling place gives me a burst of energy and hope. My normal pace is multiplied, and I have to refrain from speeding it up even more. I pretend like I am running away from my birth faction, and for a moment it feels like my boots aren't even hitting the ground, like I am flying. And it almost would feel this way if it weren't for the cool water splashing at my ankles whenever I step into a leftover puddle from yesterday's storm. The tracks over my head shudder as a train passes over them, and I feel myself being pulled along with the train in the direction of Dauntless.

This elation is so rare in my day-to-day life that I take advantage of it. I smile so widely that my face stretches uncomfortably. I let my arms reach out to the side as I continue running, as if I am on a zip line again.

_I'm going home tomorrow._

Somehow I turn my hour-long run into a forty-minute one. I am breathless from exertion by the time I get back, so I take a few minutes to drink some water and slow my heart rate. When the sun finally breaches its way over the fence, I step inside the humble house to prepare for school, noting that Caleb has already left.

With my long, gray dress on, I approach the mirror in the hallway on the second floor. On this day last year, I was somber. I met my own frightened eyes in the mirror while my mother trimmed my hair. Then I went downstairs, where we had one of our last breakfasts together as a family. I remember the heavy dread in my stomach that made me want to be sick.

It is the opposite now. This morning I am more than obliged to be going back to my faction of choice. My hair is about as long as it was then because I have been growing it out ever since I made the split decision to cut it in Amity. My face has aged significantly in the last year; I am no longer the meek-looking, awkward teenage girl who needs to grow into her features. Instead I am a woman, with my skin weathered from time and my naturally sad eyes, which reflect the loss that I feel with every waking moment.

If things were different, maybe my mother would be standing behind me to assist me with my hair and to meet my curious eyes in the mirror once more.

With my mood automatically dampened, I slide the panel that covers the mirror shut. My eyes land on the few scars that line my wrist, from a time when harming myself was the only way I thought I could find relief. I slide my sleeve down to hide them.

I wouldn't want her here to see the coward that I have become.

* * *

"Are you okay?" Susan asks as she slides into a spot across from me at the lunch table. "I don't mean to pry, but you seem..."

"Bored? Tired?" I fill in the blanks for her. The latter is because of reasons that will remain unknown to her—honestly, as kind as she is, Susan is the last person I would share details about my excessive nightmares with. As for the former... "That's because I could care less about this pointless test. We took it last year; there's no use in repeating it," I say bluntly.

My aptitude has not changed, nor do I believe that it ever will. I received Dauntless, Abnegation, and Erudite as my result the first time around, and since the war seemed to only enhance those values within me, I'm sure that this test will be no different.

"That's true," she says passively. "But we should still do what our leaders tell us to do."

I want to remind her that our _leaders_ are the ones who dragged us back to this glum faction, but she clearly does not share the same sentiments with me—especially since she chose Abnegation and predictably will again—so I stay silent.

Meanwhile, the sixteen-year-olds wait anxiously for their names to be called along with those who are a year older—it is clear which is which. They do not know what to expect for this test. To distract themselves, they stay in their segregated faction groups, passing time in their own ways. The Erudite read fervently; the Candor have heated debates; the Amity sing a repetitive, rhyming song; the Abnegation sit patiently and mind themselves. The only group that I don't block out is the Dauntless, who are loud and lively.

Foolishly, I search for Uriah's face among them, but I don't spot him. Oh well. I will see him soon anyway. And I don't need to cause trouble by mingling with someone from another faction right now.

An Abnegation member emerges from the set of doors that leads to the aptitude testing rooms. While going through the list of names, she calls out, "Beatrice Prior."

I rise and make my way to the room I am assigned to. Upon entering, I realize too late that being a test administrator for the Abnegation dependents is not a very desirable job. Therefore, only a select few would volunteer.

Tori is one of those people.

Of all the Dauntless I thought I would see first, somehow it turns out to be her, someone who wasn't on the list. The last time I saw Tori, we ended on a hostile note because she was so determined to have revenge. I shiver when I see her standing in the room and run my finger over the now healed bite marks that line my hand.

"Tris," she acknowledges me with a stiff nod. I see how this confrontation will go; it will be formal and quick.

"Tori," I reply, stepping toward the reclined chair warily, as if she will sink her teeth into my hand at a moment's notice.

"Nice rags." Obviously referring to my not-so-flattering choice of attire, although it is not actually a choice. She types something on the computer next to the chair, and I swallow hard.

"Thanks." How else am I supposed to respond?

She tilts her head in the direction of the chair. "Have a seat."

Cautiously, I lower myself onto the chair, watching her every move just in case she tries to pull something. I don't think that she will attack me, but I simply can't trust her anymore after her stunt in Erudite.

It is ironic that I would be saying this now, when only a year ago I had to trust her with a secret that meant my life. She hid my Divergence, even risked herself to lie for me, and I am thankful for it.

But times, along with our relationship, changed. She decided that she would rather cause her friend harm than let Jeanine live. And I can't let bygones be bygones after that.

Tori looks years older as she barely turns her face to hand me a glass filled with a blue, translucent liquid. "You know the drill," she says.

"Yes," I reply, tipping the glass back to swallow its contents.

* * *

Dinner was once infinitely different.

At this very table, one year ago, my mother and father sat with Caleb and I and blessed the food before conversing about commonplace topics about seemingly inconsequential things that would later lead the city to war. Little did any of us know that we should have taken every precaution to end the feud between Erudite and Abnegation that we discussed.

"Beatrice?"

I peel my hollow gaze away from our mother's old chair and turn my attention to Caleb. He sits where our father once sat, across from me, and I notice that his face is slowly morphing into his as he grows older.

I clear my throat. "What?"

"I asked what you got on your test today," Caleb repeats.

Because of my now foul mood, I can't hold back the words building in my mouth. "I'll only tell you if you don't run off and give my results to Jeanine," I snap.

To be truthful, I did not mean for the words to slip out. I don't even mean them at all. Caleb and I have resolved our issues, and while his betrayal still pains me to think about sometimes, I have forgiven him.

The first days of returning to the Abnegation life with him were absolute horror. I couldn't believe a word he breathed, and any word he did say ended with me taking shots at him until he gave up on speaking around me. I despised Caleb with everything I had because of his disloyalty that led him to run off to Erudite and become Jeanine's puppet, to help her torture and eventually (try to) kill me. If he touched my arm, I bristled and snarled at him like a wild animal. If he made any tiny mistake while we were fixing up the house—it took some damage during the war—I would give him a verbal beat down.

And then, a few weeks in, it all shifted when I hit my breaking point.

Because it is not a desirable reminder, I immediately bury that night down into the darkest parts of me.

Long story short, I was severely depressed—I am not past it on some days—and I came to a point where I needed somebody. With no friends or boyfriend, I had one person left to turn to. I remember creeping down the stairs that night to find Caleb on the couch in the living room, and when I approached him, I collapsed in his arms sobbing. I needed my brother so badly that I was willing to forgive him for his naive mistakes.

And I have reason to believe that he did not even realize what he was doing at the time. He did make his own beyond foolish decisions, I am aware. But Jeanine is extremely manipulative. I was even tricked into giving her what she wanted, when I turned myself into Erudite. I can't exactly blame him for something I fell for as well.

"I'm sorry." I shake my head. "I didn't mean that."

Caleb bows his head and moves the peas on his plate around with his fork.

"I got the same thing. Abnegation, Dauntless, and Erudite."

"And I'm assuming you're choosing Dauntless?" he states, but it sounds more like a question.

"Yes. And you're choosing Erudite?" I ask.

His answer is certain and shocks me. "No. I'm staying here."

I blink at him. "But Caleb, you're Erudite. That's what you chose. Don't let me stand in the way of who you are. I promise, I won't judge."

Because this decision has to be about me. He knows how I feel about Erudite, how deep inside I would feel betrayed once again if he ran off into the arms of the faction that destroyed my life. But if being surrounded by research efforts and books suits him, then who am I to hold him back from living the life that he enjoys?

"No, this isn't about you," he sighs. During his brief pause that he takes to think, I take the opportunity to eat some more of my bland dinner. Then he clears his throat and answers, "I want to stay in Abnegation because I feel more at home here. I-I feel closer to our parents here."

A lump builds in my throat. God, I can never handle sentimental remarks about our family anymore.

"Besides." Heat rises in his cheeks. "Susan is staying, I think."

I flash him a grin. "You still like her."

"Yes," he says sheepishly.

"Make a move then," I laugh.

Once my teasing and his defensiveness lull off, we fall into a more sullen mood. "We never really got to be siblings like that, did we?" Caleb grimaces.

"No," I agree. "No, we didn't."

And it all comes back to Abnegation standards. If they didn't forbid us from acting like normal children, then maybe we never would have run into the problems that we did right before and during the war. Maybe we would be closer.

"Well, at least you used to laugh more when we were younger," he comments. "I miss that."

"Yeah." Me too. But the war took away my happiness, along with my will to live. My smiles and laughs aren't common these days.

I understand why he is saying this; ever since he came home that one evening last fall to find me cutting myself, he has walked on eggshells around me and tried to bring a grin to my face at any given opportunity. He has avoided bringing up any topic that might upset me. I think he is scared of me being pushed over the brink, and I don't blame him.

Once our dinner is finished, we clean up under the dim light that is meant to conserve energy but doesn't do much to illuminate the room in the first place. While he washes all of the dishes in the sink, I dry them. We fall into rhythm and don't feel the need to speak as we help each other with one of our last tasks together.

We retire once our chores are completed. I head to my room and he to his, and when my hand is on the doorknob, he says, "Beatrice?"

I look over my shoulder at him. "Yeah?" I say softly.

Caleb takes on the role of the man of the house. He squares his shoulders, looking all too much like our father, and gives me some advice that I never imagined coming from his mouth.

"Since you're going back to Dauntless, please take this advice: don't get involved with Tobias. It didn't work out the first time, and I don't want you to get hurt again." He gives me a sympathetic look. "I know you loved him, but it will only cause you unnecessary pain to be with him."

I gulp. I almost forgot about _him_—not in the way that you accidentally forget to do something, but in the way where you try to shove something out of your brain and it only comes back stronger to haunt you. Just the mention of his name gets my heart pounding, though not for the reasons it used to.

"Beatrice?"

"Yeah, got it," I rush out, moving into my room and shutting the door behind me.

* * *

**Decided to post twice in a row just to get the story going!**


	3. Chapter 2

TOBIAS POV

Fighting has become a second nature to me. The pattern of swinging fists and dodging them has become predictable in a way I wish it hadn't.

Catcalls and urgent shouts fill in the empty spaces between me, the other fighter, and the audience that encloses us. I don't even know my opponent's name, but in the midst of the muffled sounds around me, I can barely make out the name "Razor" being chanted.

We circle each other for a moment, on a mat in the center of the training room. All the sights blur until he is the only person in my vision. I study his face: the beard that doesn't look very clean at all, the ring through his eyebrow, the bald head—an ugly bastard. He must be over ten years older than me, and has been in Dauntless for much longer than that, but he will not win this fight.

I sidestep him carelessly when he throws a slow punch. The crowd boos—they bet good money on both of us, and I don't think that my screwing around is getting them any closer to an entertaining fight or their gambled money. But the brawl has to last longer than a couple minutes, or else then they would _really_ be disappointed. They should all know by now what I can do, how I could end this fight in seconds, and they are fools if they bet against me.

While we dance around each other, my mind drifts elsewhere, as it sometimes does during these fights. I don't necessarily need to pay attention when I can predict my opponents' actions ahead of time, before they even think of performing whatever sad attempt they can muster.

I reflect on my pathetic day that consisted of working in the control room for most of it. However, I did spend time with Zeke, Shauna, and Uriah, who has fallen into our group since the war. He and Shauna bonded over Lynn's death, and Zeke and I have noticed his loneliness, so we let him accompany us everywhere, despite being younger.

I think that being tightly packed in our group keeps the demons of war away during the day. There is strength in numbers, I have found.

But the war that ended nine months ago always finds some way to creep into my brain, to fill me with regret and complicate my life now. If I'm being honest, I blame myself for what happened, for the lives that were taken. It _was_ my fault after all, since I was the one who knew about the attack on Abnegation in advance and only went as far as to warn Marcus, who then refused to heed it. I gave up; I am responsible for thousands of deaths, and great, now I have a nervous ache in my stomach that will not help me win this fight.

Just as I come to my senses for a moment to dodge another hit, it dawns on me what today is. I didn't even realize that it was Aptitude Test Day.

And tomorrow is the Choosing Ceremony.

Which means Tris is choosing.

In my distracted haze, I take a blow to the mouth, which snaps me straight out of it. I breathe out, "Fuck," under my breath and shake off the shock of pain in the lower half of my face. I notice that Razor has a smirk on his.

With my arms raised into an offensive position, I find a wide gap where I target his stomach. He doubles over with a wheeze, and I finish him off with a loud hit to the temple, which leaves him crumpled on the mat. Likely unconscious.

People yell for him to get up while others cheer, and I don't waste my time to stay and see the aftermath. I shove my way through the awed audience and out of the training room, picking up my jacket off of a table along the way.

The cool, underground air makes me sigh in relief. The musty training room was overheated, and now cold sweat clings to my shirt and my body. I prod at my lip to test it, and sure enough it is painful enough to make me wince. My fingertip also comes away dabbed with red.

I just _had_ to get far off track enough to think about _her_. How perfect. To this day, she is still causing me pain, directly or not.

The walk to my apartment is a quick, frustrated one. People keep their distance from me because of my presumably pissed off facial expression, joined by a bloody lip. Not to say that I'm very approachable on a good day though.

And when I insert my key into the lock of my door, I finally feel like I can be at peace for the rest of the night. At least, until I step inside and right on top of a note that was slid under the door while I was gone.

"Of course," I huff, bending down to pick up the piece of paper. Slamming the door behind me, I unfold the dirty, flimsy note and read the predictable words.

_Tobias,_

_There will be some developments in the next few weeks that will make you rethink your hard set decision not to join us. As always, the door is open. This time will be different, and we will succeed._

—_Evelyn_

I scoff and crumple up the message before tossing it into a trash bin on the way to the bathroom. I could fill up that whole garbage can with the amount of these little recruitment notes she has passed along to me for the last nine months. They have only strengthened my resolve to not join her factionless cause, no matter how many times she has mentioned that there will be another uprising.

Mulling over the words of my next note to her—something along the lines of, "Kiss my ass"—I flip on the tap. My split lip hurts about as nasty as it looks. I don't have much I can do about it though, so I only wet a cloth and dab on it to clear it of fresh blood. Then I do the same to my knuckles, which are only tender because the tape I had wrapped around them protected them.

When I am finished, I meet my dark eyes in the mirror, noting that they seem different than they did years ago. They have seen death and real fear, and agony worse than anything I experienced during my childhood in Abnegation. They are hungry for more chaos because that is what they are used to. Maybe that is why I fight.

I never wanted to be a violent man, yet I can't deny that I am one now. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that I finally found the nerve to end things with Tris; my inborn hostility would not be compatible with a relationship like that.

Bowing my head over the sink, I groan out loud. I don't want to think about her, no matter how much my time with her was the only part of my life where I felt truly happy—or as happy as one can be with an impending and later present war. But Choosing Day is tomorrow, and she will inevitably be returning to Dauntless. I can't ignore her as much as I want to. She will be showing up in my life every day for a while, and I will have to accept it.

Turning off the light in the bathroom, I head out to the living area of my apartment, where I change into comfortable clothes to sleep in. If Tris is going to stubbornly stay in my head tonight, then at least I can shorten her temporary residence in my mind by falling asleep early.

Once I am in my bed and all of the lights are off, I try to relax under my blue quilt. But it only invites thoughts about Tris in. Could she have changed? Could her breakdown have flipped something inside her that made her return to her old self, the one I loved?

That last time I saw her, I thought that she was too far gone to come back. She looked so frail, on her childhood bed, dressed in gray that buried her in dullness. She was so shut off from the world that I still don't know to this day if she even knew that I was there. All she did was finger the bandage on her wrist and stare out her window at the moon that cast eerie shadows in the room.

Caleb had sent me a note earlier that evening, through factionless messengers. _It's Beatrice. It's urgent_, he wrote. And even though I was supposed to have moved on since it was a month or two after our breakup, I was there in Abnegation in the middle of the night right after I received it, without question.

When I arrived, he briefed me on the situation. I had figured that sending Tris back to Abnegation would be dangerous and not beneficial for her mental state—she was already messed up from the war—but I had no idea what it would lead to.

Caleb was in hysterics and on the verge of tears, which was odd because after his traitorous actions, I didn't think he cared about his sister. He explained to me that he came home to find Tris cutting gashes into her wrist with a kitchen knife. Terrified for her wellbeing and worried that she would try something like this again, he turned to me for help.

"Please do something," he begged. "You're the only one she would ever listen to. You have to help her. _Please_."

Without a plan in mind, I climbed the stairs to her bedroom and entered. She was lying unresponsive on her side and didn't seem to notice my presence, but I sat on the bed near her feet and faced the same window that she faced. Together, we sat and didn't acknowledge the other.

I mean, what was I supposed to say? I hadn't seen her since I broke up with her after she incinerated any trust I had in her. And I suspected that I had something to do with the current mental struggle she was having. A simple, "Hey, how's it going?" wouldn't work to break the ice. An apology wasn't something I was willing to offer; she broke my heart too. Besides, our former relationship wasn't the reason that I was there.

I was there to make sure she wasn't so far gone that she would take her own life to prove it. Because deep down, I still have an affection for her that wouldn't allow me to just leave her behind to harm herself.

I barely recognized her. The woman I loved was not the shell of a person I was glancing over at then. It crushed me to see what Tris, who was once capable of anything, even capable of making me stronger, had crumbled down into.

She was gone.

And yet I still hadn't—haven't, if I'm being honest—given up on her.

"Don't do this to yourself, Tris," were the only words I offered her that night before I sat with her for hours until she drifted off. I don't know if it did anything for her, but I know that she isn't dead. Hopefully she found a way to dig herself out of the hole she fell into. And if so, good for her.

But after seeing what she had been reduced to, I don't see her true self ever making a reappearance. So I bury my earlier wishes of her ever making a full recovery down inside myself. There is no chance of us again.

Recalling that night has only stressed me out; it has not helped to lull me off to sleep deep in thought. I kick the covers off and sprawl out on the bed, sighing irritably. These unresolved feelings are going to keep me up all night unless I focus on something else.

So I push myself out of bed and to the kitchenette, where I take a water bottle out of the refrigerator. Lost in my contemplations, I forgot to hydrate after the fight tonight, but I definitely notice my dry mouth now. I drain half of the bottle on my way to my computer on the other side of the room.

Figuring that I will distract myself from tomorrow by using the computer, I sit down in front of it and pull up the recent news. I haven't checked it all day, but nothing really happens in the city anymore besides laws being implemented. I almost expect to see nothing new.

Until I read the headline: _WOMAN FOUND DEAD, DECLARED FIRST SUICIDE SINCE LAST YEAR_

For a split second, I panic. My mind was just barely reminded of this topic, and my heart pounds in protest to stop me from reading any further.

If the victim is Tris...

I shake my head because I just can't believe she would do this, right before she would be set free from Abnegation. I pray that I am correct before reading the first part of the article.

_21-year-old Rebecca Jacobs of Amity was found hung from a tree in the Amity orchards at 6:00 A.M. this morning. Analysts from Erudite are investigating, but they have labeled her death as a suicide and have determined that she died hours before she was found._

I frown. I have lived in this city for nineteen years, and the only suicides that I am aware of are those of Dauntless initiates. Those are not broadcasted—only the Dauntless knew of Al's death last year—meaning this is the first suicide outside of Dauntless in decades.

It would be one thing if this was a while back, after the end of the war. Or if it was her Choosing Day. People have their reasons, so it must have been personal to her because nothing else comes to mind.

I read further because I can't comprehend this tragedy.

_"It was so unexpected," her sister told Candor reporters in between sobs. "Rebecca was so happy. I never would have thought she would do something like this. It's so unlike her."_

As I suspected, something is wrong here. I don't know if the Erudite know something that they didn't report, or if my bias against them is clouding my judgment. But I have always been suspicious of people, and I _know_ something strange happened. And I know they have to be involved somehow.

For now though, there is nothing that can be done. When I turn off the computer, I promise myself that I will keep an eye out and look into the matter if something else occurs.

But I have to concentrate on training right now. Choosing Day is tomorrow, after all.

And I can already tell, it is going to be a wild ride.


	4. Chapter 3

TRIS POV

For one of the last times in my life—or maybe the last—I step outside of my childhood home and onto the gravel streets that run throughout Abnegation. It is a relieving thought this time around, rather than pressuring as it was before. But that was before I knew how liberating life could be outside of this restraining faction; it was before I lost my parents and therefore my desire to stay put.

"Are you ready for today?" Caleb asks as we walk side-by-side down the street. The bus stop at the corner is our destination—I have had to take the bus everywhere, and it has gotten to the point where if I wasn't going to be riding trains from now on, I would have recently started using my legs as a preferred method of travel.

"Yes," I say. Ready to go home in general? Yes. Ready physically? No.

After Caleb and I parted ways to our bedrooms last night, I couldn't stop thinking about Tobias, since he brought up the sensitive subject. It led to my eyes being glued open for hours and my body being uncomfortable in any given position. As forcefully as I tossed and turned, I could not jerk him out of my head long enough to fall asleep.

On top of that, nightmares plagued my mind when I did manage to get an hour or so of rest. They attack me almost every night, but last night was especially worse because each time I woke up meant another nightmare was to come until the morning saved me.

Now, it is taking everything in me not to involuntarily shut my eyes. I am so disoriented that I nearly lose my footing on a rock in my path as we walk.

I don't know what I will do throughout initiation. Tobias will undoubtedly be my instructor again, and therefore we will be forced to spend eight hours of each day, not only in the same room, but with him giving me pointers on shooting and fighting. A knot forms in my stomach when I remember the moment last year when he had pressed his palm in that same place and told me to _keep tension here._

And even worse, he will have to delve into my mind and witness my worst fears during the second and third stages of training.

How am I supposed to pretend that his presence will be okay? My mistakes notwithstanding, he abandoned me when I needed him the most. That is the worst betrayal of all, and I have scars to prove it.

This is all I need to know. I will avoid him as best as I can, and keep it professional, like I did with Tori. I will no longer think of him as Tobias but rather as Four, because that is all he is to me now. The cold, harsh instructor with a number for a name.

"Beatrice?" Caleb calls.

I notice that he is several strides ahead of me. I must have stopped while I was deep in thought.

"Sorry," I say with the shake of a head, moving to catch up to him.

As we make our way to the bus stop, we come upon many Abnegation leaders on their way to the Choosing Ceremony, including Marcus Eaton himself, who I have avoided since returning to Abnegation. In fact, I have managed to stay completely clear of him until now.

"What is he doing here?" I ask Caleb quietly.

"Probably attending the Choosing Ceremony, like everyone else," he replies simply.

"But he's not a leader anymore." The other leaders thought it would be best for him to step down after the war, after his image had been tarnished at the Candor trials. The Council didn't want to seem corrupt in the slightest by jumping at the opportunity to take over again, so they started by wiping themselves clean. As much as the Abnegation still look up to Marcus—God knows why—his abusive reputation wouldn't allow him to be a leader any longer.

Caleb shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe he is trying to get on their good side again," he offers.

It is a logical explanation, which I accept. Marcus would do anything for power again.

Just as people are beginning to board the bus, he clumsily drops his briefcase. Nothing falls out because it is zipped shut and upright, but he seems to be having a difficult time bending over to pick it up. Old age is catching up with him, I guess.

He notices me watching and asks, "Beatrice, a little help?" His voice is polite, but I hear the threatening undertone.

Maybe if I didn't know him well, I would help. Maybe if I didn't know the evil he was capable of—abusing his wife and his son, saving his own skin at the cost of others' lives—I would help. Maybe if I didn't still blame him for coercing me into betraying the one person I loved most, I would help.

But I do know all of these things. And I also know that I have no sympathy for him. The war turned me into someone else, and she is not willing to take any shit from Marcus Eaton.

Instead of assisting or even just ignoring him, I make the situation worse. I nudge the briefcase over with my foot so that it tips over, the handles now level with the ground.

He flashes a glare up at me that is gone as quickly as it came as soon as Abnegation members hurry over, trying to pose as a victim. And because this is Abnegation, nobody snickers; the only thing they do is hand the briefcase to Marcus and offer him passive smiles.

Surprisingly, I find a smile in me too, but not for the same reason.

When everyone is finally crowded onto the bus, it shifts forward into motion. The summer air makes the amount of people worse, and my nausea intensifies the longer we stay on this death trap. At least this is my last ride. From now on, it will be strictly trains.

The Hub finally pulls into view, and we file off the bus. Caleb and I briefly lose each other in the crowd, but then we meet up again once we are halfway to the front doors.

A train horn sounds, and I yank on his arm to get him to stop. Together, we watch the train slow as it nears the pavement, and then people dressed in black leap from the cars, landing on a patch of grass that breaks their fall.

"Sorry," I say, turning to walk into the building. "I just miss it."

"Well, you won't have to for long," he sighs, holding the door open for me. "I'm going to miss you, you know?"

I frown slightly. I spent so much time hating him in the beginning, and now I am regretting it. Those are just less days spent with my brother.

"Yeah. I'll miss you too." I follow him up the stairs, momentarily forgetting how many flights we have to climb. "Don't be a stranger, okay?"

He turns to look back at me. "What do you mean?" he says, raising his voice so I will be able to hear him over everyone else in the stairwell.

"Whenever we get the opportunity, we need to see each other," I tell him. "Like Visiting Day. That's only in two weeks."

"Oh, right." He brushes his hair away from his forehead, reminding me why some girls may think he is handsome in an oblivious way. "How about I come to Dauntless? I've never _really_ been there."

I laugh, picturing my brother awkwardly standing among a bunch of people with tattoos and piercings. "Well, when you do come, good luck."

We eventually reach the auditorium where the Choosing Ceremony is held every year. There is an overwhelming number of people swarming the room this year because there are two groups of teenagers choosing. Undoubtedly, some people will have to stand in the aisles.

Caleb and I are lucky enough to manage to snag two seats near the back of the room, up at the top. We watch all of the factions mingle in their segregated groups, and I desperately search for my friends' faces among them, to no avail. Later, Susan and Robert join us, and I socialize with them, knowing that I may not see them again. They are not close friends of mine, but they are decent enough to be the only people I could comfortably talk to in Abnegation.

When everyone is seated and quiet, the ceremony begins. It is Amity's turn to lead this year, so Johanna Reyes takes her position on the stage and begins her speech. I don't know how Johanna manages to keep a straight face through the falsities she speaks of—like factions being more important than love and family—because I know she doesn't believe these things. But I suppose if she has to constantly hide her feelings in Amity, then it is easy for her to do it here as well.

Like every other year, the names are called backwards and alphabetically. One by one, each teenager, either age sixteen or seventeen, makes his or her way to the front of the room to cut their hand and drop their blood in the bowl of their choice. I don't pay attention to the names or the choices. I wait calmly with my hands in my lap, not even bouncing my foot. I am not anxious; I know what to expect.

"Prior, Caleb," Johanna announces.

Caleb rises, and I do too. When he looks at me with confusion written all over his face, I wrap my arms around him in a tight hug. The Abnegation around us are all stunned, since contact is frowned upon in nearly any situation.

"I love you," I whisper into his shoulder. I haven't said the words to him in over a year. In fact, the last time I uttered them was to Tobias—Four—a few houses down from ours in our birth faction. "Good luck."

"Thank you." He squeezes me tighter before letting go.

Taking my seat, I follow his figure with my eyes as he walks, slouched in his gray clothing, up to the stage. He takes the knife from Johanna, and I have to hold my breath in case he chooses Erudite again.

Fortunately, I worry over nothing. Caleb slits his hand and drips the blood into the correct bowl.

"Abnegation."

The faction claps politely, commending his choice. I blow out a heavy breath in relief.

"Prior, Beatrice."

I stand up and say a quick goodbye to Robert and Susan. Then I walk down the aisle, trying not to beam.

"Yeeeeah, Tris!" someone shouts from the Dauntless section. I am glad to hear my name again. I get my own set of rowdy applause from my faction, which makes heat rise in my cheeks. While I am a sort of celebrity now because I was a prominent face in the war, I haven't gotten used to all of the attention. That was the only good part of living in Abnegation: I was treated like an average nobody by my former faction members.

When I get to the bottom floor, Caleb, who is standing with the other Abnegation initiates, grabs my arm.

"Be careful," he says.

"I will." Although I don't know how possible that is in a faction like Dauntless.

With eagerness, I walk up to Johanna and accept the blade from her.

"Thanks, Johanna," I say.

She offers me a reassuring smile, but I hesitate. At one time, I did this act willingly, just a little distance below where I am supposed to cut now. I promised Caleb I would never do it again.

But this is different, and I will myself to believe it as I drag the knife across my palm. Blood oozes out of the cut, and before it can fill my hand and drip on the stage, I hold my fist over the bowl. The deep red drop lands on the jagged coals that are still hot enough to make a fizzing sound.

"Dauntless."

The Dauntless break out into a loud cheer that echoes through the auditorium. With a wide smile, I stumble over to the Dauntless section, where Uriah is there to greet me.

"Uriah!" I gasp, running the rest of the way to throw my arms around him. It is so good to see him, like I'm home already, and I almost tear up a bit.

"Tris!" He picks me up and spins me around, causing me to shriek and blush again. Laughs and congratulations surround us.

After setting me down, he begins rambling as I study his face for any changes. I immediately notice that while he is smiley as usual and looks as if he wants to crack a joke, there is a dimness in him. I wouldn't necessarily describe him as "effervescent" anymore.

"How are you? I missed you a ton. I've only had Zeke and Four to keep me company. And you haven't really missed much. Dauntless hasn't changed, but initiation is going to be crazy—"

"Pedrad, Uriah," Johanna calls out, and I get the feeling that this isn't the first time his name was said by the amount of eyes on us.

"Oh crap, sorry, I'll be right back!" he exclaims, rushing onstage. All I do is laugh at his antics.

Time flies, and before I know it, Christina is screeching in my ear in excitement. Our time apart was lonely, we all three agree, and now the amount of contagious energy coursing through us that only derives from teenagers being with their friends is rampant. We have been separated for so long that we rudely carry on our conversation about anything we missed out on as Johanna tries to do her job.

As the ceremony nears its end, bandages are passed out to the new initiates of each faction. I take one and pass the box to Uriah.

"Tris, wow, I'm sorry, but our first order of business once we get to Dauntless is to get you into something flattering," Christina states without allowing any argument.

Tearing the plastic off the sticky part of the bandage, I nod. "I hate to admit it," I say, "but going back to Abnegation again has only made me realize that you're right when it comes to fashion." I would not have admitted this last year, when she constantly dragged me around the compound to make me look "pretty" in our spare time.

She claps in triumph, wincing when the cut in her palm makes contact with the other. "You just need to start with a little mascara and some tight clothes, and you'll be fixed up in no time."

I can't believe the previously repulsive idea is appealing to me. But I keep that part to myself, pressing the bandage into my palm to make it stay.

As soon as everyone is dismissed, we burst through the doors of the auditorium, down the many flights of stairs, and flood into the street. Random people milling around in the street hurry out of our way, mentally judging us as hooligans as we make catcalls and jog down the center of the road, towards the train platform.

Back when I was out of shape, I was breathless at this point of initiation, but now I relax because I have been waiting for a chance to run like this. With enough breath to last me a lifetime, I pass Christina and Uriah with a wide grin that I can't hold back.

However, Uriah is not satisfied with my passing of him. "Race ya there!" he blurts out, breaking out into a sprint.

Christina and I glance at each other challengingly before working to catch up. And because this is Dauntless, many others decide to take on Uriah in a race. My worn boots, which were definitely not made for running, leave me with blisters that I don't pay any attention to as I beat Christina to the base of the platform.

We all climb to the top and wait for the train. Eagerly, I bounce on my toes and shake out my hands as the platform rumbles beneath my feet, signaling an oncoming train.

Knowing better now than I did the first time, I get a running start, not bothering to watch the train pass and blow a gust of air at my face. I let others file on before me, and then I follow Christina and Uriah into the last train car with a rush of adrenaline buzzing through me. Instead of getting settled though, I lean out of the car to make sure that nobody else needs assistance climbing aboard.

An Amity girl—surprising, because there are about as many Amity transfers in Dauntless history as Abnegation transfers—struggles to push herself faster. She is short like me and must have begun running late, so now she is paying for it.

"You can do it!" I yell at her over the wind. "You're almost there!"

With a grunt, she reaches out for the metal bar on the side of the train, but I offer her my hand instead. I yank her inside just in time to watch the edge of the platform pass.

"Thank you," she breathes, leaning against the wall so that the wind won't blow her brunette hair everywhere.

"No problem." I offer a friendly smile. "What's your name?" It couldn't hurt to have a few extra friends in Dauntless, and I learned my lesson well last year.

She beams at my attempt to get acquainted. "I'm Destiny. What's your name?"

"It's Tris."

Her eyes bug out of her head. "Wait, Tris, as in _Tris Prior_?"

I shift my weight to my other foot, suddenly uncomfortable. I will never enjoy being recognized on a regular basis.

"Yes."

Destiny nods to herself. "Okay," she says. "I'll stick with you then, if you don't mind. You know what you're doing."

* * *

Fifteen minutes of waiting later, the Pire slides into view. Dauntless-born and transfers alike all crowd around the open doors to get a peek at the compound.

And the rooftop up ahead, of course.

"Get ready to jump," I suggest to Destiny.

"_Jump_?" she exclaims, incredulous. "We're several stories high!"

"Onto a rooftop," Uriah clarifies. "We're not _that_ stupid."

Her jaw drops, and then she shuts it. "I'm going to take a wild guess and infer that the train is not going to stop."

Christina laughs, "Yeah, get used to it, honey. This is probably one of the least crazy things that we do here."

As soon as people start leaping out of the train, I back up against the wall.

"Just follow me," I tell Destiny, already taking her under my wing for seemingly everything. "And jump as far as you can, and you'll be fine."

She takes a deep breath. "Okay," she says.

When the time is right, I take a few running steps and throw myself onto the rooftop. I am in flight for no longer than one second before I hit cement. Gravel digs into the heels of my hands and my knees, and I wince for a moment. I shake off the jittery feeling and stand up, making sure my friends made it.

For a second I remember the initiate who didn't make the jump last year, her hair fanning out and her limbs bent unnaturally. When I blink, I see Marlene in the same position. My fault, because I didn't turn myself into Jeanine earlier.

_Stop_.

I take a cleansing, shaky breath. If I am going to get through initiation again, then I need to set aside my own personal issues and obstacles. This will not end well if I let myself relive the war as I almost constantly did in Abnegation.

A blonde Erudite girl groans next to me as she picks a rock out of her palm. It is apparent that she is sixteen, unlike me. I wonder if we will train together because we are transfers, or if I will train separately with the Dauntless born.

Either way, I will take all the allies I can get, and she seems nice enough.

"You okay?" I ask, holding my hand out for her to take.

Instead of letting me pull her up, she stands herself, casting a glare in my direction as she wipes her hands on her navy skirt. "I don't need a Stiff's help," she snaps.

Not expecting this reaction, I raise my eyebrows. Who does she think she is? She must consider herself prestigious coming from Erudite, but with that attitude, she won't make it a day in Dauntless. Those scrawny arms won't help her case either.

"Suit yourself," I mumble, wandering back over to my group of friends.

"Listen up!" a man hollers.

All of us initiates crowd around him, where he is standing on the ledge of the roof. He is tall and surprisingly bulky, like he could knock someone unconscious with one swipe to the head. Besides the ring through his eyebrow though, he doesn't look as Dauntless as many others with his lack of tattoos. Is this our new leader?

He confirms my suspicions. "My name is Hunter," he says sharply. "I am one of three Dauntless leaders, and I am here to welcome you to Dauntless." He gestures to the ledge. "Now, which one of you can prove your bravery to us by taking a leap of faith?"

The sixteen-year-olds packed together next to me blink at him as if they didn't hear him correctly.

"Wait, hold on. You want us to jump off the roof?" an Erudite girl questions incredulously.

Hunter narrows his eyes at her. "Was I unclear?" Rhetorical question, of course.

Christina nudges me in the side, and I glance over to see her holding back laughter. I find myself smiling too. Last year we were just as paranoid as the new recruits—because we _were_ them—and now this is an inside joke.

"Hey, you," Hunter calls pointedly. "Stiff."

And because I am the only Abnegation transfer on this roof, I reply, "Yes, sir?" All eyes turn to me, but I don't slouch under their gazes.

"What's so funny? You want to go first?"

He means to intimidate me, especially because he is Dauntless and likely prejudiced against the Abnegation. But little does he know, I was the first jumper last time, and this will barely faze me.

"Yes, actually."

Without any further stalling, I step forward, right past Hunter's scrutinizing gaze. I'm perplexed as to why he doesn't recognize me as most Dauntless do, though I do look a lot more plain than usual in gray.

Hoisting myself up onto the ledge, I gain my balance and stare down at the seven-story drop. I can't help but gulp—I don't remember it being this high up. Jumping off the roof shouldn't be this difficult because I know what the outcome will be.

Once I take a deep breath and close my eyes though, the rest is easy. I step off the roof with a gasp hitched in my throat. My stomach drops, and I do too, and before I know it my body slams into the net underneath the gaping hole.

As I catch my breath, I slide my fingers in between the net and grip it for stability. But all too soon, the net dips, and I naturally roll in that direction.

I am met by dark blue. His eyes swallow me whole as they used to before, reminding me that they were once my only comfort and promised me things that could never last.

"Hey, Tris," he greets softly.

"Hi, Four," I say.


	5. Chapter 4

TRIS POV

Four lifts me out of the net, and I grab onto his shoulders for support before he sets me on my feet. Immediately after, I remove my hands and avert my eyes, ignoring the shock of energy that shoots through my body by just touching him.

"This feels familiar," he comments to alleviate the awkward vibe between us, though it doesn't actually work.

I chance a look at him. He towers over me, just like I remember, his dark hair grown out slightly to the point where his natural curls are visible. His apathetic eyes are darker than before; in fact, I can't even make out the lighter patch of blue in his left eye—or any blue, really. A split lip gives him an even more intimidating appearance, and I wonder briefly how he got it.

The rugged look is attractive enough on him that I find myself staring shamelessly. It is easy to almost forget that he not only broke my soul nine months ago but proceeded to kick me even after he was gone.

When I realize that I still haven't responded, I clear my dry throat and say, "Well, someone was going to have to jump sometime."

He smirks slightly, but there is not much amusement in it. Turning his head to address the crowd, he shouts, "First jumper, Tris!"

The words echo in the cavern and escape through the gaping hole above the net. A long time ago in a different place, those same words filled me with elation, especially since they were coming from him. Now I see them as insignificant; I am only the winner of an inane test of bravery.

One year can change everything.

"Welcome back," Four says, his voice low.

I nod at him and step off the platform, just in time for Destiny to land in the net with a scream piercing the air, followed by an airy laugh. Four yanks on the net to help her out, and a flare of anger surfaces in me when I think of him picking her up like he did me.

When he only steadies her with his hand and leaves the rest to her, though, I feel shameful. I have to turn away from the scene completely to gather myself. _What the hell was that about? _And then Destiny—who changes her name to Dez, to be more Dauntless—practically skips over to me in her red Amity dress, all innocent-like, making me view myself as an utter idiot.

For all I know, he has a girlfriend. Not that I care.

Time drags on as we wait for all of the initiates to fall into the net. Uriah, Christina, Dez, and I all stand by and try to pick up names as they quickly come and go.

"What's her name again?" Christina asks, pointing deliberately. "The blonde one from Erudite."

"I'm not sure. She's not someone you want to be friends with though," I advise. Our encounter on the rooftop was enough proof that she is not a decent person.

Christina hums. "Good to know."

"What's good to know?"

The hair on the back of my neck stands up at that unfortunately familiar voice. I don't even turn around to address him. "I don't think that's any of your business, Peter," I snap.

"Woah, Stiff, I thought we were on good terms," he says with mock hurt. "You know, since I saved your life that one time?"

"Yeah, and I thought that made us even." After I saved him from a bullet in Amity and he kept me out of being injected by the death serum, I figured we would be tied—at least, in his logic—and he would leave me alone from now on. I guess not.

"No offense, Peter, but nobody wants you around," Uriah tells him with a hint of humor. There is no need to gain hostilities, especially with someone as creatively dangerous as Peter.

"Sorry. We're in initiation together again," Peter reminds us. He loops an arm around Christina's shoulder and receives a harsh jab to the side, which gets him to back off.

"Listen up!" Four beckons. Everyone quiets down quickly at his threatening tone. "We'll be splitting up. Even though things are different this year, Dauntless-born and transfers will still be trained separately. And the sixteen-year-olds will be weighted differently from the seventeen-year-olds, who obviously have an advantage if they completed initiation last year." He tilts his head towards Lauren, the Dauntless-born instructor from last year. "That being said, the Dauntless-born go with Lauren. Transfers, stay."

The Dauntless born file out. Uriah trails after the group with a reluctant goodbye and a promise to meet us at dinner soon. It is now that I notice just how many transfers there are; while there were nine total last year, this time there are thirty at least.

"Usually I work in intelligence, but for the next month or so, I will be your instructor," Four says, monotone. "My name is Four."

The bratty Erudite girl, who stands right in front of me, whispers to her friend, "I bet something of his _isn't_ only four."

My face burns at her inappropriate comment, mostly because I'm well acquainted with him.

Four, however, is unfazed after having to listen to cracks at his name every year. He steps forward and levels a glare at her that makes some of the other initiates squirm in fear. "What's your name?" he asks.

"Jessica." She winds a piece of her hair around her finger.

"Jessica, if you don't want to get eaten alive here, then I would suggest keeping your unimportant, repulsive comments to yourself."

That seems to deter her, at least for now. He backs up and leads us out of the room and into the dark hallway, calling out, "Follow me," over his shoulder.

Christina shivers next to me. "I'm not even joking, I'm still scared of him," she confesses.

I roll my eyes. Nobody has reason to be afraid of him. Contrary to what I used to believe, he isn't remotely close to being Eric.

We receive the grand tour of the Dauntless compound, though a few of us don't need one. I admire the liveliness of the Pit, and then we get the chasm lecture again. Four and I touch each other's gazes for an uncomfortable millisecond, since it is impossible to ignore the fact that this is where we had our first kiss.

I thought this—acting emotionless and forgetful of the past—would be easier. If not, then at least not outright complicated like it is now. I haven't even gotten to the dormitory, and I'm already sneaking glances at him and reminiscing over a relationship that was cumulatively toxic, at least during wartime.

He is a magnet; it doesn't matter that we broke up and that it should be a simple matter of avoidance because I am drawn in by his presence alone. Maybe I am just used to gravitating towards him, or maybe it is the natural, mysterious aura that surrounds him. Either way, I can't shut him out.

I hate it. I hate it because I hate him.

"This is where you'll be sleeping for the next few weeks," Four states, allowing us to take in the sight of the grungy dormitory. "There aren't enough beds because we usually don't get nearly this many initiates, and we weren't planning on it this year either. So a few of you will have to sleep on cots on the floor." He turns and cuts into the crowd to leave. "Work that out amongst yourselves. Get changed and head to dinner after."

And I thought last year's conditions were unfavorable.

Without hesitation, the transfers rush to obtain a decent bed before it is stolen. Instead of doing the same, I silently volunteer to take one of the cots near the doorway. Someone will have to anyway, and I don't feel the need to fight over something as trivial as a slightly more comfortable place to rest.

"You're crazy," Christina informs me as she digs through the drawers under her bed for an outfit.

"So I've been told," I mumble, not even bothering to hide my body as I change into the black initiates' uniform that I was provided. Immediately, I feel like I can breathe again once I'm out of the dull Abnegation clothing.

Once we are settled in for the most part, Christina, Dez, and I all head to the dining hall. The music can barely be heard over the rambunctious chatter, but it is there and adding to the noise. The smell of roasted meat wafts in my direction when I step inside, causing my stomach to grumble in pleading for a well-cooked, seasoned meal, which I haven't had in a year.

"Look, there's Uriah," Christina says, dragging me along with her, before coming to a halt.

"What is it?" I ask when she begins searching for another open table. Dez seems confused as well.

Christina nods towards the table that Uriah is currently eating at. Next to him is Zeke and Shauna, and across from them is none other than Four himself, sipping from a cup nonchalantly.

"Oh crap, isn't that our instructor?" Dez says aloud, already knowing the answer.

Initiation is one thing. But sitting next to him for an entire meal? I'm not so sure I can handle that.

"It's fine," I snap indignantly, determined to not let him have power over me. In fact, I take the initiative to march over to the table, taking the seat next to him because neither of my friends would want to.

He goes rigid and keeps a safe distance, listening to a story Zeke is telling. For now, this is bearable.

"I hate the Dauntless-borns," Uriah complains to us as soon as we are all sitting. "I barely know them. I wish I could train with you guys instead."

"Well, we don't," Christina teases. I smile slightly as I pick up a hamburger with my fork. _This_ feels like old times, like I don't have to think of war or death for a moment because of the warm atmosphere and the company of my friends.

"I remember when you ate your first hamburger," Christina laughs.

I nudge her with my elbow at the reminder. "Stop," I whine.

"Oh yeah, you told me about that," Uriah chimes in.

"Wait what?" Dez interjects from next to him, trying to be a part of the conversation.

Christina launches into the story. "So Tris had never had a hamburger before she came here last year—" But I can't help but succumb to the blanket of melancholy that settles over me while I eat. That was when it was simpler: when Will and Al sat across from us, when Four told me to be careful about running my mouth, when the only enemy I had to look out for was Eric.

A year later, and Will and Al are dead, Four and I are estranged, and Eric—thankfully—is dead as well.

"Tris!" Zeke calls. I turn my head to where he is at the table, diagonal from me. He gives me a welcoming smile that both the Pedrad brothers have mastered. "I just barely noticed you."

"How are you, Zeke?" And then, seeing that Shauna is paying attention, I add, "You too, Shauna." I'm hesitant to see her reaction. We didn't get along well during the war, when she was wary of my Divergence.

"I'm doing great, actually," Zeke says bluntly.

I lift the corners of my lips. "Good for you."

When I look at Shauna, she offers an awkward grin. "I'm better," she says.

"That's good to hear," I reply sincerely. I can't imagine what it would be like to lose all mobility in the lower half of your body. Shauna is strong though, so I take it that she is managing a lot better than most people.

Uriah pulls me back to the other conversation. "Well, and Tris over here got first, of course..."

"Wait, what are we talking about?" I question before taking a bite of my hamburger.

"Initiation," Uriah clarifies. "Come on, Tris, get with the program."

I send him a playful glare.

"I'm asking too many questions," Dez states, "but can you guys tell me what to expect?" Everybody at the table can tell that she is nervous, rightfully so.

I explain, "Tomorrow will focus on guns," which I don't know how I will handle when I still can't hold one, "and after we will probably work on muscles and fighting techniques, and then we'll eventually fight—"

Until now, Four has stayed mostly silent, except for an occasional comment made towards Zeke and Shauna. But he interrupts me now to say, "You're not supposed to be discussing this with the sixteen-year-olds. They're supposed to be in the dark like you were last year."

I clench my teeth together. _That_ is all he has to say? And who does he think he is, patronizing me in front of our friends?

Without looking at him, I fire back, "There's nothing wrong with telling her the basics of what to expect. It's not some big faction secret."

"It's not helping her in any way."

"Preparedness helps people to be brave." I learned that from him.

My face burns as everyone watches us, completely quiet. The tension is heightened during the seconds that he takes contemplating his retort, but instead of responding he just finishes his drink and rises from the table, accidentally knocking his thigh against mine. I see him leave out of the corner of my eye, and then I hang my head in embarrassment and focus on my dinner.

"That was scary!" Dez stage whispers, seemingly horrified. "I can't believe you said that to him. He looked like he was going to crush that cup in his hand."

Christina replies so that I don't have to. "Do you not know who that is?" she asks.

Dez gapes at her. "I don't know, our terrifying instructor perhaps?"

With the shake of a head, Christina explains, "He and Tris used to be together. Does that not ring a bell?" I bite the inside of my cheek in irritation, suddenly not very hungry anymore.

"Four. The Dauntless leader." Dez covers her face with her hands. "Oh my God, I can't believe I didn't make that connection until now."

Deciding that I have had enough of everyone staring at me and talking about my failed relationship, I stand up. "Excuse me," I say before I walk out of the dining hall. Nobody follows me.

* * *

TOBIAS POV

My apartment feels like an inferno when I enter, since the sun was shining through the wall of windows all evening. I click the _down_ button on the air conditioning, hoping that it will cool down by the time I return.

This really isn't the best time to send my mother a message; I should be resting up before I have a couple weeks of constant training to conduct. But I want to get it over with, so I scribble out a note on my desk that reads:

_Evelyn,_

_Nothing you can say will make me come back and join you. Don't send me another message._

_4_

I fold it up and stick it in my pocket before I leave.

The stone tunnels are chilled in contrast to the summer air up above the compound and in the apartments where there are windows to let in the heat. A part of me wants to sleep in these hallways, underneath the blue glow and away from the eventual morning sun. I'm growing sick of this monotonous, hot, bright weather.

I take a detour instead of going straight through the Pit. Staying tightly pressed to the wall, I make my way across the ledge that lines the Pit and up the flight of stairs that takes me outside just below the Pire, on level ground.

The moonlight serves as the only light source for me as I walk along the train tracks. Some factionless tend to hang around the corner of the last Dauntless building that stands beside the tracks, and others hang around all of the other factions. They haven't taken no for an answer ever since they somewhat successfully rebelled last year, and now it is common to find them milling about in civilization, looking for trouble—or food. Dauntless guards have to forcibly remove them if they want them gone because they won't cower to guns anymore.

While I don't exactly enjoy factionless presence, I use them to my advantage. They will take the bribe of delivering messages between factions in exchange for food quickly, like a child being offered candy. It is how Caleb sent me the urgent message about Tris too.

My God, Tris Prior can manage to strike every one of my last nerves.

Today when she landed in the net, she was almost alight with that fiery spirit that I once saw in her. Her eyes were stunning, her golden hair long—and though I'm not petty enough to care about something as trivial as a hairstyle, I always liked her long hair better. Although maybe that is just because I equate that with her old self.

At first she was _her_, with that echo of her sixteen-year-old self, with some sorrow behind her eyes that was not there last year.

And then the irritating parts about her stood out, and we were back to square one. Challenging me at the dinner table was something I might have laughed at once, but tonight it was embarrassing for both of us, fighting in front of our friends like the couple we were that could never seem to agree. Although I guess my comment didn't help.

Whatever. If she doesn't want us to be cordial around each other, then I will just prove her to be the asshole by treating her with the respect I'm not sure she deserves.

A fire glows up ahead. I approach the light and shove all thoughts of initiation to the back of my mind until I get this deal over with. I don't trust the factionless, if the knife in my pocket isn't an indicator of that. It is unwise to not be on my guard around them.

"Hey!" I call once I feel that I'm close enough.

The four men crowded around the fire spring to their feet and glare at me. "Hey, get out of here, shithead," one of them sneers.

I sigh at their defensiveness. "Look, I just need a message delivered," I say. _Not everyone is trying to pick a fight with you assholes._

"That comes with a price."

I remove the slim can I brought from my jacket pocket and toss it in their direction. When they seem satisfied, I step closer to personally hand one of them the note.

"Take it to Evelyn Johnson," I order.

One of the men catches on. "Hey, aren't you her son? That Eaton kid?" That is none of his goddamn business.

I shake my head as I walk away. "She's not my mother."

The walk back is a brisk one. I don't need to give any factionless thugs a chance to jump me. As soon as I am back inside the Dauntless compound, I feel safer.

On my way to my apartment, I notice a feminine figure curled up against the wall in the hallway near the initiates' dormitories. It is a strange place to be, especially at this time of night, and I can't help but stare at her as I approach. It is when I am a few feet away that I realize that I know this person.

"Tris?" I say, surprised.

She lifts her head away from her knees and narrows her eyes up at me. The blue light casts shadows underneath them. "What do you want?" she growls.

"Why aren't you in the dorms?"

"How is that your business?"

"I'm your instructor. I think that damn well makes it my business." But I really just want to know for the sake of my curiosity.

Tris's gaze hits the floor and stays there as she mumbles, "Nightmares."

"What?" Everyone has nightmares. But I do remember hers being especially terrifying to her in the past. One time she was so frightened that she stumbled into my room in Amity and sobbed hysterically in my arms, which I later found out wasn't about her parents since she had deliberately hid her secret about Will from me.

They interrupt my sleep too sometimes, to the point where I wake up in a cold sweat after having to kill people again. Mine don't sound as troubling as hers though.

"I get really bad nightmares, okay?" she exasperates, and I briefly wonder if they are one of the reasons she cut herself. "And I'm out here to cool off before I fall asleep again and confront the next one. So could you please just leave me alone, Four?"

The name sounds foreign coming from her mouth, and I long for her to call me Tobias again. She is the only person I will allow to use my real name.

Has it really come to this between us? We fought so hard during the war to keep this relationship, and it was all for shit. It didn't matter because now she can't stand the sight of me, and I can't handle being around her long enough to have a full-on conversation. As much as I despise the situation, I can't fix anything because I would have to fix her first.

So after a few dragging seconds, I say, "Goodnight, Tris," and walk away. I don't think she ever replies, and that hurts worse.


	6. Chapter 5

TRIS POV

Something shakes me forcefully. It could be the explosion in my dream, but it feels more like a rocking than a harsh blast.

"Tris."

The shaking is detached from the frightening visions in my mind now. The chaos begins to fade away.

"Tris, wake up."

My eyes fly open, and I bolt up on my cot. I am in the Dauntless dormitory, and by the looks of it, Christina and I are nearly the only ones left. There are only a few people still changing.

"Huh?" I murmur, my mouth numb.

"We're going to be late. Hurry and get dressed," she rushes out.

Everything clicks in place. I'm late for training. Great. My constant nightmares have kept me up to the point where I desperately needed to sleep in, and now I am going to pay for it.

In a frenzy, I change my pants, my shirt, and throw a jacket on over my outfit. When I am pulling on my combat boots, Christina offers me a muffin with a bright smile that no person should have at this time in the morning.

"Thanks," I say, accepting it once my hands are empty.

On the way to the training room, I devour the muffin, wishing I had more time to savor it, but it was wasted. We arrive a minute before we're supposed to begin, and I throw my hair up in a messy ponytail for the remaining seconds that we wait for any late initiates to arrive. It turns out that Christina and I were the last ones.

That was close, if the warning look that Four shot at me when we walked in wasn't indication enough. From now on, I can't let my nightmares claim me as they usually do. If I don't want to be factionless, it is of the upmost importance that I arrive to training on time.

I am still kneeling to tie my shoes when Four begins.

"That was a close call for some of you," he warns. He looks grumpy and like he doesn't want to talk, as he normally does in the mornings. "Training starts at eight. I would recommend that you all get here at least five minutes earlier."

Tucking the long parts of my shoelaces in, I rise and offer my full attention.

"Before we begin, I'm going to go over our schedule. We will train from eight to twelve, take a one-hour lunch break, and continue training from one to five. Then you will be free to do as you please for the rest of the night until ten, which is lights out." So essentially the same as last year. Good.

"Training will last about a month, or a little longer considering the amount of initiates we have this year," Four adds, pacing as he recites his annual lines in monotone. "There will be three stages of training. The first is physical, in which you will learn the combat techniques that you will need to become a Dauntless soldier. In the second stage, you will face your worst fears. And in the third, you will combine these skills to prove your worth to us."

All of this information goes in my ear and out the other. The basics of initiation have not changed, and therefore there is no reason to try to fill my head with something I already know. I will be relearning enough today anyway; I need all of the possible space in my head to be cleared.

Four continues, "Transfers from last year, I suggest you pay attention to this part." We perk up at this. "There will be cuts again this year, meaning that if you aren't fit to be Dauntless, then you will be made factionless."

The training room becomes so silent that it is impossible to hear anyone's breathing. While I am not completely surprised, there is a hopeful part of me that deflates. I thought that with the population drop in Dauntless because of the war, maybe there wouldn't be cuts. I thought that with Eric gone, Dauntless wouldn't be so brutal.

It isn't me that I'm worried about, since I was able to emerge at the top last year. Christina is capable too, as is Uriah. I'm mostly concerned for Dez, who is shell-shocked next to me, because despite my perseverance last year, the scrawny girls don't always make it. Myra was an example of this.

"Of the thirty-two transfers, it is estimated that only twenty of you will stay in Dauntless. We will be ranking you with the Dauntless-born, who are a total of forty right now. Most of them will end up staying, so you will have to work your ass off if you want to have a spot in the top fifty."

Momentarily, I wonder why there are so many Dauntless initiates this year. But then I remember the war, and how dire it was to know how to fight back and defend myself, and I understand. If something like that were to happen again, then they want to be prepared, like I was.

"And keep in mind that your rankings will determine your career at the end of initiation. Any questions?" he finishes. When nobody dares to speak, he says, "Good. Let's go."

The pack of transfers follows him cluelessly to the end of the training room that is lined with man-shaped targets. My stomach twists into a knot at the sight because I know what is coming next.

"The first thing you will learn how to do is shoot a gun, since that has proved to be the most valuable skill to have," Four tells us. At the mention of war, everybody around me falls into their own memories of horror, leaving their faces in dead stares. But he seems unfazed, like the war didn't affect him much, and I don't know how he can put on such a show when his friends died, when he had to take lives, when he was tortured.

He steps over to one of the tables that is lined with guns and picks up a pistol. "You'll be starting out light with one of these, but before lunchtime I want you working with rifles."

I gulp. I don't even think I can get past the pistol stage. As far as I remember, the last time I fired a gun of any kind was on the day I murdered Will. And if my nightmares are any indication of what this will be like, well...

Four picks up a clip and inserts it into the bottom of the pistol, slamming it in all the way with his palm. After demonstrating how to remove the clip as well, he then positions himself in front of a target, and I ponder over how he can still be so comfortable and smooth with a gun after everything that happened last year.

"Watch how I position myself," he orders us. People stand on their tiptoes to look over other people's shoulders, and I'm still biting my nails trying to figure out how I will be able to pick up a weapon. He spreads his legs so that they are shoulder-width apart, keeps his arms straight out, and fires a round into the center of the target in front of him.

How can everyone remain unbothered by the sound of gunshots? On the first shot, I nearly jump out of my skin with fear. I no longer see the training room in front of me; instead there are rows of Abnegation houses, where neighbors are getting shot in their front lawns; there are Abnegation fleeing in the Amity fields as the Dauntless-Erudite open fire; there are mind-controlled Candor killing Fernando on a ladder in an alley.

"Don't shoot wildly," Four reminds the group, and I can barely hear him over the ringing in my ears. "I want you to hit the center at least five times before you move on to the rifles."

With all of the instructions given, he starts handing out guns. One by one, the initiates take their places in front of the targets and begin shooting. Each bang is felt in my body, and I vibrate with anxiety. _This will not end well._

I am so shaky that I almost drop the gun that Four places in my hands. When I feel the cold metal against my palms, my throat constricts.

"Are you okay?" Dez whispers to me as we move to stand in front of our targets. "You look pale."

"I'm fine," I grit out in frustration. I shouldn't be this weak. How many times have I done this before? It should be simple.

Raising my arms, I mimic Four's stance and take a deep breath. All around me there is gunfire, and sooner or later I am going to have to join in, or else I will attract our instructor's unwanted attention.

I try to keep my trembling to a minimum as I aim down the sights at the center ring of the target, which is the center of the chest. _It's wood_, I repeat over and over to myself. But the frigid sweat that gathers on my forehead seems to suggest that I believe otherwise.

My finger brushes over the trigger for a split second, and Will is now the target. I gasp out my breaths while my pounding heart refuses to settle down.

_"Will!"_

I see him approach me in the alley with his own gun raised, and I don't have a choice, but I do and—

_"Will, stop!"_

"Tris!"

I didn't know that my eyes were closed until now. When they fly open, I am in the training room again, and instead of pointing my gun at the target, I am aiming it at Four's chest, my finger hanging over the trigger. He probably came over to ask why I wasn't shooting and saw my personal struggle, and in my haze I must have flipped around in a panic to defend myself.

My heartbeat becomes even more erratic when I realize what I almost did.

"Tris," he says carefully, like I will do something unexpected. For some reason, he seems calm in this life-or-death situation, with his hand held out steadily.

Then I realize how quiet the room is, and that there are now over thirty pairs of eyes on me. My chagrin is obvious as my face turns red and my eyes release the tears they were holding back.

"Tris," Four says slowly, his eyes wide and ironically innocent, and I remember when I pointed a gun at him when he was under the simulation that controlled Divergents. "Give me the gun."

With no desire to keep the weapon in my hands any longer, I place it in his outstretched palm. It seems that everyone in the room shares a breath of relief, that the insane girl with likely five different panic disorders didn't shoot up the training room.

I hold my head high and wipe away my tears as I leave.

* * *

Christina finds me during lunch later that day, curled up in one of the dim hallways where I can find some sort of peace that the dormitory doesn't offer. I meant to return there after my meltdown in the training room, but I took one glance at the bed that Edward slept in last year and remembered the butter knife incident and decided that it would be best to avoid the dorms.

My best friend doesn't treat me any differently. After asking if I want to talk about it and hearing my answer of no, she sits next to me and tucks her knees into her chest like me.

But I do eventually open up. I have spent the last nine months in a place where I wasn't allowed to discuss my emotions, and now it is a relief to have that option. So I take advantage of it.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," I mumble into my knees. "How am I supposed to pass initiation if I can't even accomplish the basics and hold a gun?"

Christina sighs and replies, "You're kidding, right? You got first place last year. I bet that you won't even have to get near a gun to get a decent rank."

"I can't just _skip_ it." I come out from my hiding spot and look at her. "But if I am going to learn, then I don't want to do it in front of everyone. They already think I'm insane."

She shrugs. "Maybe a few do." Thanks for that Candor honesty. "But the rest of us know what you had to do in the war, and we're not judging you."

I know that she isn't referring to me killing her boyfriend, yet it is the first thing that comes to mind. Leaning my head back against the stone wall, I try to recall what happened a few hours ago; I wonder if I called out Will's name in my vulnerable state.

"Quit moping," Christina urges. With a huff, she drags me to my feet. "Let's go make you look pretty."

It pulls a smile out of me. "I'd rather just go back to training," I tease.

"Oh, don't be dramatic."

We walk to the Pit floor, and then we weave through the crowds and up to the ramps that line it above. Once inside the makeup/piercing store next to the tattoo parlor, she takes me to the back of the room and sits me down on a stool.

"I'm surprised you didn't bring your makeup bag on the train," I remark, remembering how she brought it to Abnegation during the war.

She starts picking out strange tools that she means to buy once she is finished with my makeover. "I may have stuffed a few things into my pocket."

"I was joking."

"Hold still," she demands as I attempt to avoid whatever contraption she is trying harass my eyes with.

Twenty minutes of torture later, we stop by the cafeteria for a quick lunch, which all of the initiates already finished. As soon as we clear our plates, we head straight to the training room. I am surprised and slightly anxious when I see that Four is waiting at the doors.

"Tris," he says. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"

Christina sends me a glance that bears the message, "Good luck." I straighten up and remain neutral as I follow him a little farther down the hall, anticipating the lecture that I am bound to get. I mean, I did almost shoot him today.

I do not expect his words. "Are you okay?"

A laugh that sounds more like a scoff escapes me. "Why would you care?" I say.

Where was he when I lost Lynn, yet another friend that was taken by the war? Where was he in the chaos that ensued after the Erudite overthrew the factionless? Where was he when I was self-loathing in Abnegation and crawling through each day? Where was he when I was cutting myself—

He was never there. He cut all ties with one sentence that shattered everything within me, and he didn't stay to clean up the mess he made.

And suddenly he is concerned with my well-being?

Four's face hardens, his eyebrows drawing in. "Don't I have the right to be worried about an initiate that nearly killed me and could potentially be a threat to the other initiates?" he asks.

Of course. It wasn't even about me personally in the first place; it was a systematic check-in, a job requirement.

"Yeah, well, thanks for the concern," I spit, "but I'm just fine."

I turn to leave, but he catches my wrist, yanking me back to him with the call of my name. A jolt leaves his fingers and converts into goosebumps on my arm. I wish my body wouldn't be so reactive to him, even though he is the only man that has ever really touched me.

"You don't have to worry about gun training," he offers. "I can just lower your rank, and you won't have to do it."

For a second it sounds like a gift. But then I recall that this isn't personal to him. He doesn't care about me. He is thinking of his trainees.

"Don't do me any favors." I rip my arm out of his grasp and walk into the training room. Maybe at one point in time he would have pursued me. But then again, based on the way things turned out between us, maybe not.


	7. Chapter 6

TRIS POV

Most of the initiates are worn as they stumble out of the training room to dinner, believing that the worst is over and not anticipating the extent of their soreness tomorrow morning—at least some of them, anyway. Christina and I, along with the other returning transfers, are fully aware that the pain doesn't stop throughout the entire initiation process. We will be the ones to wisely get a head start on sleep tonight.

While I am tender from the day's work, I am not as wrecked as I was last year on the first day of training. Maybe that is because I skipped the shooting this morning; however, my muscles are familiar with the movements I forced on them today during punching practice, despite using them this way about a year ago.

Fortunately, the rest of training today was spent relearning the same combat moves that were taught to us last year. Four demonstrated on a punching bag and in the air before setting us loose to prepare for our upcoming fights. He didn't bother to fix anything I did, and I don't know if that is because I didn't need help, or if he is just done assisting me.

I suppose it is the latter. I mean, I have shoved him away with cutting remarks any time he has tried to strike a conversation or offer me something, like he did earlier regarding gun training.

But while I want to feel no remorse over the way I have been treating him, it is natural for it to eat away at me. I don't enjoy disrespecting people who don't deserve it; I guess that in spite of what he has done to me, my previous attachment to him makes me view him as innocent sometimes.

Trying to forget about all of it—the haunting relationship, the tiring day of training—I tune into the conversation at the dinner table that doesn't have anything to do with either.

"I see that Peter made a friend," Christina says, staring a few tables over where he sits with Jessica, the blonde, snobby girl from Erudite, and her friend, who I have learned is named April.

"Not surprising," I comment, though I am not usually one to gossip. But the two are so fitting as friends that I can't help but blurt something out.

Christina shakes her head and reaches for a dinner roll. "She's desperate. Did you see how she was staring at Four today?"

A flare of irrational jealousy burns beneath my cheeks, and I will myself to suppress it. "No."

"It's true," Uriah pipes up. "Full-on ogling. Even I noticed."

This shouldn't matter to me; he isn't mine to claim. But the fact that she is trying to steal something that was once mine agitates me because it has only been a day and I already have a simmering rivalry with Jessica.

She meets my eyes from across the tables between us, and then turns away with a contemptuous expression still written on her face.

"And she spent the whole time during gun training showing off," Christina says. "It was pathetic. It isn't that difficult to shoot the general center of the target." _Unless you're me_. "We were all doing it; you're not special."

This reminds me of last year when she took cuts at Peter, Molly, and Drew from across the training room in a not-so-secret manner. I smile when I remember her saying that she was doing them a favor by reminding them that they weren't God's gift to the world. Now that I know what they are capable of—stabbing sleeping people in the eyes, throwing defenseless people in the chasm—it doesn't make me uncomfortable to disrespect them anymore. Though it does make me want to keep a discerning eye on Jessica, despite the fact that I am not afraid of her.

Our conversation settles to a lull when a blonde boy with a cocky smile takes the seat next to Uriah. That makes four of us now, since Dez is mysteriously missing from the table.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asks, even though it is too late. Well, what does he expect us to do? Tell him to leave? So far I like him because of his desire to make new friends, and I think that the others do as well.

"I guess not," Christina replies slowly.

"Cool." He flashes another bright, contagious smile. "I'm Justin."

When nobody responds because they all seem to be having a difficult time holding back laughter, I say, "Hi, Justin. I'm—"

He waves me off. "We all know who you are, Tris Prior," he deflects, not in a rude manner.

I duck my head, humiliated. "Couldn't have anything to do with my stunt in the training room today, could it?"

Surprisingly, he shakes his head. "No, actually. I just know you from the war."

"Of course," I huff. As hard as I attempt to bury the war in the darkest parts of me, there will always be people who recognize my name and bring it up. I almost wish I didn't get involved so that I wouldn't have to deal with this aftermath. "Are you from Candor?" I inquire, both because I want to change the subject and I just have a feeling.

"Yep," he answers, popping the "p".

"You and Christina will get along well," I say wryly and elbow my friend next to me.

She hits my shoulder back. "Hey!" she whines.

After introducing ourselves to Justin, we come to find that he is humorous and charming, much like Uriah. Everything that tumbles from his mouth is his truth and somehow his statements manage to get us to chuckle.

By the time dinner is almost over, we are all sleepy but in a cheerful mood. Evenings are the only time where there is a lull in initiation, and we savor it, lingering in the dining hall even after we are finished with our meals until we will have to retire for the night. Uriah even manages to snag an electronic tablet from Zeke and read us news stories for entertainment.

"Let's see, a fight broke out among the factionless. Boring. That happens every day here," Uriah scoffs. I enjoy watching him joke around; his spirits have been permanently dampened by Marlene's death, and it has been obvious to me even over the last day that he isn't the same. "Um...woah, what?!"

"What?" Christina presses.

"_Two more suicides have occurred in the last day, following the death of Rebecca Jacobs in Amity_."

And because Abnegation doesn't allow news reports like this to be circulated, I burst out, "Hold on, let me get this straight. Somebody killed themselves? And there have been _two more_?"

It piques my interest, not only because suicide is a touchy subject for me. Besides the almost yearly suicide that takes place within Dauntless walls, there has never been an announced suicide in Chicago for as long as I can remember—Al was the only one I had ever been exposed to. And three in the time span of a few days? The idea is asinine.

Uriah continues on, "Yeah, it says here that..."

But I have heard enough details. Something strange is at work here, and an Erudite or Candor news article is not going to give me any answers that might surface in my mind.

Somebody catches my eye, and I flick my gaze over to Four, who sits a few seats down with his head angled in our direction, like he is listening in. Once he notices me staring, he pretends to focus his attention back on Zeke rambling across from him.

I frown. It was something in his face that makes me believe he knows more to this story—maybe the calculating look, or the flicker of recognition on his face. But I can tell that he has been researching this or taken a special interest in it, and if he knows something, then I want to know it too. I refuse to be left in the dark if the city is going to break out into mayhem again.

Because that is how it all started last time. With news reports.

So I wait until he drains his cup and leaves the cafeteria, and then I excuse myself from the table and hurry after him into the hallway.

"Four!" I call.

He stops dead in his tracks and faces me with a curious expression. "What?" he asks incredulously as I step closer.

"I need to talk to you about something."

With a sigh, he leads me to a more private hallway. Once it is quieter and more obscure, he turns to me with an annoyed look on his face, one that I remember distinctly from when Eric oversaw our training and breathed down his neck the whole time.

And it is that that makes me change my mind. Four doesn't like me; he has continually made that clear since I came back to Dauntless. He made it perfectly clear when he broke up with me and left me to fend for myself when I needed someone the most. I don't know what I was thinking when I figured he would share any information with me.

Instead of going with my former plan, I change my approach. The longer I thought about it during training, the more I realized that I will have to get through gun training somehow. And I can't do it alone, or surrounded by the other initiates.

Holding my breath, I say, "I want to learn how to shoot again."

He forces out a rough laugh that makes me take a step back. With a raised eyebrow, he reminds me, "You said you didn't want anything from me."

Suddenly timid, I stare down at my shoes. "Well, I changed my mind."

"Tris Prior is changing her mind?" He huffs. "Never thought I'd see the day."

He is kidding himself if he thinks that he was never the stubborn one in our relationship. I roll my eyes and ask, "Will you help me or not?"

Four studies my face, not believing that my request is genuine. His stern expression sharpens his jawline and hardens his eyes, and I vividly remember the rare occasion where he would smile and all the lines in his face would disappear with the exception of the hints of dimples. Those moments were when everything could be all right if only for a second.

The cruel world brought out the harshness in him though. The Tobias I knew is now smothered beneath it.

"Fine," he agrees. "We'll start tomorrow night."

* * *

TOBIAS POV

Tris meets me in the training room after dinner, as I told her to do yesterday.

To be completely honest, I was not looking forward to teaching her how to shoot a gun again tonight. I spent the day of training pondering over how I was even going to make it work with someone so unstable, let alone bear spending an hour or so with her. The clueless sixteen-year-olds that I corrected for hours on end are more teachable than she is at this point.

Predictably, she didn't show up to the first half of training today, warranting the streaming questions that came from the mouths of some of the initiates. With great irritation—and a little defensiveness—I had shut them down by telling them to mind their own business. Tris is already causing me more trouble than I needed, between her sparking attitude and her mental problems.

I notice how she wrings her hands as I approach, anxiously darting her eyes from a pistol on the table in front of her to the targets that it is pointed at.

"How..." She clears her throat. "How are we going to do this?"

I hadn't thought of that yet. I figured it would come naturally, that maybe coaxing her into shooting would do the trick. So that is what I begin with.

Sliding my jacket off my arms, I set it on the table next to the gun. "I want you to start by just picking it up," I say. "Get used to the feel of it."

With a robotic nod and a heavy breath, she reaches out and brushes her fingertips over the metal. I watch her contemplate the simple action, watch her eyes become older with the worried lines around them. She put dark makeup on them again like she did a couple days ago, to make them stand out. I can't help but admire her long eyelashes for a moment.

When she picks up the gun, it seems to be physically painful for her. Her hand is jittery, and the movement even spreads as far up as her arm, the gun wildly aimed between nowhere and nowhere at any given time.

I don't have to be some sort of psychiatrist to know what she sees every time she so much as touches a gun. Will—the friend whom she had no choice but to kill—haunts her to this day, preying on her weakness so that she is unable to use a weapon.

It is that thought that gives me an idea. If she thinks of Will when she is in a fragile state, then maybe the way she can force her way past that barrier is to face him with strength.

And when is Tris Prior at her strongest, something that I can channel?

When she is angry.

"Turn toward the target," I order.

She cowers visibly but does just that.

"Aim."

She shakes her head, terror written on her face. "I-I...already? I can't yet—"

"Do you want to be able to shoot or not?" I snark. "Now suck it up and aim at the target. Focus on it until you shoot."

Gulping, Tris lifts the gun. And I try my new tactic, harsh and personal as it may be.

"When you do manage to get the guts to shoot, then maybe I can teach you accuracy." I pace behind her, repulsed by what I'm about to say. "All of us have had to kill someone, you know. You're not a damn victim, so quit acting like it."

Her back goes rigid at my comment. Murder should never be taken lightly after you have done it yourself, and I just acted flippant about the friend she killed and the Erudite-Dauntless guards that I killed and even Eric, whose execution still appears in my nightmares from time to time.

"Although, you've always acted like a victim about it all, haven't you? I mean, it was one thing when your parents died—"

She bristles and adjusts her grip on the gun. "Stop it," she snaps.

"—but that was just a front for everything else later. It was a cover for all the lies and the secrets and the intentions to break promises."

I should stop, since I have made my point. She is probably furious already, enough to accomplish her goal of shooting a gun. But I have had this pent up frustration that has not been dealt with or spoken of for nearly a year, and with the opportunity at hand I can't let the words stay bottled up, as my feelings and thoughts have been my whole life. I don't want to bury away the betrayal that still stabs at me some days, or the mourning of the lost girl that I loved.

This can be my way of confronting her.

"The war didn't make you do the things you did," I say. "You did it all yourself when you ran headfirst into danger, when you worked behind my back with my abusive father, when you pretended to be weak so that you didn't have to raid Erudite and got my sympathy despite your lies..." The next words are wrenched up from the most agonized parts of me. "When you left me after we made love so that you could turn yourself into Erudite to die."

It was heart-wrenching to wake up in the middle of the night, after I gave myself to her in a way I had never exposed myself before, and find her missing. The only person I was close to had taken my trust and my love and run away with it because she was too blinded by her desire to be a sacrifice for her parents to see that she had other options. But because I was a lovesick idiot, I jumped straight into hell with her by turning myself in to Jeanine...

Tris closes her eyes, tears trickling steadily down her cheeks. "_Don't_," she snarls.

"I guess it doesn't matter now though. You don't love me now, just like you didn't then. It only took you until we escaped from Erudite to get the fucking words out—"

Suddenly, she explodes. And it is even more fiery than I expected.

"SHUT! UP!" she screams at the top of her lungs, firing bullet after bullet at the target across from her. The sparks resemble the anger in her eyes, and as soon as the magazine is empty, she slams the gun into the concrete floor, creating a harsh clang that echoes off the walls around us.

"I hate you!" she yells at me with passion that I have never witnessed in her before. She sobs in between her shrieks of fury, getting closer to me with each second. "How dare you say this to me after everything you have done! You left me when I needed you the most; you almost got me _killed_! I wanted to die because of you, you coward!"

The revelation makes me want to erase the last few minutes, and the caustic things I said. I don't enjoy making her cry, but sometimes it is necessary to release the animalistic parts of us before we heal.

And she didn't heal in Abnegation.

Her florid face crumples further as she sinks to the floor. "I hate you so much, Four. _I hate you._"

It pains me, but I accept the words. When there is a lull in her crying, I talk.

"Do you?" I ask quietly. "Because I just helped you get what you wanted."

And we both look over at where the disaster just occurred, at the discarded pistol on the ground and the target against the wall, which only has one hole in it, where all of her bullets hit the center.


	8. Chapter 7

TRIS POV

"Fights today," Christina reminds me as we saunter into the training room.

I sigh. Between hearing the news of suicides and being taunted into shooting a gun for the first time in a year, it totally slipped my mind that we were done with gun training and moving straight on to fighting. I haven't really been paying attention during training since it has mostly been a reiteration, but it doesn't really matter. With or without training, I am prepared. Plus I have the advantage of experience that the new initiates don't have.

"It feels like they threw us in the ring faster last year," I say.

She scoffs. "I know. I feel like these initiates are getting it easy this year. You know, they have no idea what it's like to have Eric stalking every move they make."

I shudder at the recollection, how he forced us to fight until someone was unconscious, how he demanded that Four throw knives at me, how he threatened to kick Christina out to the factionless if she didn't hang over the chasm for five minutes. These new initiates may be wary of Four, but they would be physically peeing their pants if Eric was their instructor.

"Yeah, hopefully we won't have to worry about fighting until one of us can't continue," I grumble as we crowd around Four with everyone else.

When I see him, everything inside of me collapses. The unspeakable insults he cut me with last night echo off these very walls and reopen the gaping wounds that I have tried to patch up over the last twelve hours. I don't care that that was his point, to drive me to rage so that I would overcome my pain and shoot; he couldn't have made up those remarks on the spot, so they must be true to some extent.

And it tortures me as much as it tortures him. Despite what he thinks, I did love him. I just couldn't be a decent enough person for him, and I proved that by putting him through all of those situations that he spoke of. More than anything, I hate hurting the people I love, and even though he is in the past, I still ache for him.

He looks uncharacteristically alert for this time of morning, with his back rigid and his muscled arms crossed, but that might have something to do with the Dauntless leader standing next to him.

"What is Hunter doing here?" Christina whispers.

I only shrug and scan the list of names scrawled on the chalkboard next to them in Four's handwriting. I will fight fourth, before Christina, and my opponent is Dez.

I meet her frightened eyes from across the group, and they plead with me for mercy. Biting my cheek so hard I eventually taste blood, I force myself to turn away. All I can think is _I don't want to fight someone so helpless._

Once everyone has filed in, Four clears his throat and addresses us.

"Initiates," he says. "Today is the first day of fights. For the first few, we will have a guest watching. I'm assuming you are familiar with our leader, Hunter. He will be explaining how the fights work."

I frown. This feels like last year all over again, with a Dauntless leader overseeing—more like taking charge of—our training. I can only wish that he is not brutal like Eric was.

Hunter takes the floor. "Thank you, Four," he says. "So you may be wondering why a Dauntless leader would take an interest in brand new transfers. Well, this is where it all begins, where we separate the men from the boys, the soldiers from the bystanders. At this stage of training—no matter how ill-prepared you may be—this is how we find the strongest initiates. You could be completely ignorant when it comes to fighting and still drag yourself up when everyone thinks you are finished. That is what we are looking for in potential future Dauntless members because the war showed us that the bravest are the ones who can take hits and still come together to fight."

In a way, I agree. Some of the weakest people have the most fire in them. But I have a feeling that last year's rules have not changed, and I don't see the point in ruling out the more fragile people by seeing which ones can handle getting pummeled more times and which ones cannot.

"That being said, the fights will continue until one of you is physically unfit to continue. Most of the time this ends in the loser getting knocked out. This way, you won't be tempted to concede."

A few muffled gasps reach my ears, and I close my eyes, disappointed.

"I think that covers it. Let's begin," Four says, and I can tell by the almost unnoticeable tightness in his voice that he doesn't agree with this. "First fight: Justin versus Derek."

Justin, the blonde boy we met a couple nights ago, shakes out his hands and steps into the ring with a nonchalant look on his face. Derek, who is shorter and less confident than him, tightens his shoelaces before doing the same.

And you would think that all eyes would be on the pair, but Peter has other ideas when he slyly joins Christina and I next to the mat.

"What's up, Stiff? You actually decided to show up to training today?" he taunts.

"Yep." I leave it at that. He doesn't need to know why I didn't attend gun training, although I'm sure he knows why. He doesn't need to know how I made up the points, and certainly not who helped me, since that would warrant a fresh string of teasing.

"Well, I'm assuming you're low on the scoreboard this time because of your absences..." A menacing grin turns up his lips. "Maybe I will get the top spot I deserve this year."

I roll my eyes and watch as Justin lands a heavy blow to Derek's jaw. "And if you don't?" I ask. "What are you going to do, stab me in the eye while I sleep? Find some buddies that will help you throw me in the chasm?"

He throws his hands up. "Wow. I'm hurt that you would think so low of me."

"You did that to yourself, Peter," Christina says. "Now what do you really want from us? The Peter I know wouldn't talk to us unless he wanted something, and that something is usually bad."

"Nothing. Cross my heart," he offers. How was he ever Candor? "Unless you happen to know how I can get on Four's good side, then..."

After trying to toss me into the chasm, I don't think Four will ever show any decency to Peter Hayes ever again. Definitely not enough to bump up his rank.

"Bye, Peter," I finish, leaving no room for him to continue his antics. He laughs maniacally and returns to Jessica's side on the other side of the mat.

She is whispering something to April, something that must do with the only instructor with a number for a name in the room. My blood boils, and I dig my nails into my palms as I observe her lusting over my ex-boyfriend, who shows no interest by paying attention to the fight.

"What a hoe," Christina says aloud. "Who throws themselves at their instructor?" And then with a glance over at me, she adds, "Not you, I mean. That's not what I meant."

I wave her off, knowing she didn't mean any harm. I'm more occupied by an idea that just occurred to me though. Now I know why Peter is making nice with Jessica: if she were to pursue a relationship with Four, then she would presumably ask him to help her friends out in the rankings. Little does Peter know, Four isn't corruptible like that, wouldn't even raise my rank if I begged him to last year.

The current fight ends with Justin as the winner and Derek as the one in desperate need of the infirmary. The next two fights are less interesting and only serve to put off my own fight that I am dreading. Hunter leaves in the middle of the third one, claiming that he has leadership business to attend to, and suddenly I am slightly less stressed. Maybe Four will let it go if Dez fakes unconsciousness...

"Next fight: Tris versus Dez."

With a deep breath filled with apprehension, I step up into the ring and meet Dez in the middle of it. She tightens her brown ponytail with trembling fingers and throws a half smile my way, maybe to gain sympathy, but either way it works. We both know that I will destroy her in this fight, with my experience and my strength.

Before we even begin circling each other, I whisper to her, "Pretend to faint."

"What?" Her eyes are wide and confused.

"When you take a hard hit, pretend to pass out."

I see unease in her nod, and I can only hope that she will abide by my plea. I don't want to hit someone like her when she clearly can't fight back.

"What are you waiting for?" Four calls impatiently. "We don't have all day."

While casting a mental glare his way, I get into a defensive position, and Dez copies me. She leaves open a few holes that she wouldn't be able to close quickly enough though, and I know without a doubt that she will not have it easy today.

We begin circling each other, and I punch her in the side to warm her up. A wheeze leaves her, and she backs up to gather her bearings for a second before returning back to the center.

She doesn't know what is coming. I doubt someone as gentle as her has had many bruises in her life, yet she joined Dauntless anyway. And here she is, struggling to keep up with me when we haven't even begun.

I hit her in the jaw next, and when she isn't expecting it, I land another blow underneath it. She gasps, blood rushing to the surface of her skin and tears prickling in her eyes.

_I'm sorry,_ I think. _I hate this as much as you do._

Dez sniffles and comes back for more. I hit her in the nose, and it is enough to finally knock her down. I can only pray that she doesn't get up again.

But she does. She drags herself back up to her feet and wipes the blood away from her upper lip and gets into a sloppy position again.

"What are you doing?" I hiss at her. "Stay down!"

"No," she whimpers before attempting a swing at me.

I block her hit and knock her back down with a punch to her stomach. I wince along with her and watch as she shakes trying to push herself up again.

I can't do this. If I hit her one more time, it will be too much but just enough and she doesn't deserve that pain, especially since she may have to fight again tomorrow. I can't make this any worse for her than I already have.

So I try to pin her down with my eyes, but she just pushes herself up on all fours.

"I-I can't," I finally say. All eyes in the room stare at me incredulously, though admiringly because I was able to say what they couldn't.

"What?" Four scowls.

"I'm done!" I shout at him, walking out of the ring.

He catches me by the arm, his grip rough but still enough to awaken the want in my core. "Tris—"

I round on him shoving him as hard as I can, though he barely moves an inch. "No!" I yell up at him. "I said I'm done. I am not beating a helpless girl just to prove that I'm a better fighter than her; I have already established that, and she has shown that she is brave enough to get up each time she gets pummeled. Now let me go."

I see Dez's same pain reflecting back at me through his eyes. He knows what it is like to be that pitiable kid that keeps getting wailed on because the stronger person won't relent. Who knows, maybe he will just let this ordeal go, despite his orders from Hunter.

He releases my arm, and I storm out of the training room to clean my knuckles.

* * *

I visit Dez later that day, when she is more awake and coherent than she was earlier—and than I thought she would be. She is sporting a black nose and several bruises on her jawline, but she is sitting up in the infirmary bed, talking avidly with Christina.

"Hi, Tris," she says softly when she sees me approaching the bed. I really hope it isn't because she is afraid of me now.

"Hi," I reply, looking down at my split knuckles. "I think I owe you a few apologies."

A breathy laugh escapes her, cut off quickly by the pain it takes to do so. "No, you don't. It's a part of training. I understand."

"No, I..." I shake my head. "I shouldn't have left you there, first of all. I just couldn't think, and all I wanted was to leave that room before I suffocated."

"It's okay. Christina helped me get here."

I nod. "That's good." And then I add, "And I also want to say sorry for beating you up, obviously."

"Seriously, Tris, it's fine. Don't worry about it," Dez says. It is easily spoken, but I still feel guilt clawing at my throat. "Besides, I should be thanking you."

I stare at her, dumbfounded. "Huh?"

"Seeing you push Four around was _hilarious_."

Christina giggles. "It really was."

I offer them a slight smile, though I know it was wrong to shove him. I don't want any of the initiates to view him as anything less than impenetrable. "Yeah, well, I'm lucky. He wouldn't let anyone else do that." He shouldn't have let me get away with it in the first place.

I change the subject. "Wait, Dez," I say. "Why haven't you been sitting with us during meals the last few days?" Her absence has perplexed me because I thought she was our friend, and I'm sure she doesn't have anyone else here being the only Amity transfer.

She shrugs. "I just didn't know if you guys wanted me there," she mumbles shyly. "I mean, you all are war heroes, and I'm just this little girl from Amity of all places..."

Christina speaks my mind before I can. "No, no, no. We did what we could to survive last year. Trust me, we aren't heroes. In fact, we made some of the biggest mistakes of our lives during that time," she rambles.

"It's true," I tack on. "Just because our names are spread everywhere through gossip, don't think that that makes us important. You're our friend, okay? And don't feel like you're any lesser than us just because we've been through this before either."

She blushes and admits, "I thought initiation would be easier for someone like me, but I guess I was wrong."

"It's hard for everyone." Even brutish Al couldn't handle initiation, though he had a fragile mind.

"Yeah. I just..." Dez covers her face. "I joined Dauntless because I didn't want to be scared anymore. The possibility of war still keeps me up sometimes, and I remember all the bodies I saw, and every time I think about how I don't want to be helpless like that. I want to be able to defend myself like the rest of the Dauntless can, and here I am, this pathetic mess." She chuckles dryly and gestures to her nose.

I admire her reason for transferring. And since she seems to always be looking for my approval, I give her some. It is the least I can do. "Well, if today proved anything, it's that you are brave enough for Dauntless," I say. "And trust me, that will matter more when it comes down to rankings, especially in the second stage."

It gets her to smile triumphantly.

* * *

"I still feel bad," I tell Christina as we walk to the training room later that night.

"Well, don't. We've all had to beat people up." I throw her an unbelieving side glance. "What? It's true."

"Yeah, but I don't like to be callous about it."

She bumps into me on purpose. "Speaking of calluses, let's hurry and get this over with. I want to go to bed sometime today," she quips.

"You don't have to," I say as I push the training room doors open. "I just thought it would be good to get some extra practice in—"

A loud roar cuts me off. In the center of the training room, a large crowd is packed around the ring, where two people are presumably battling it out. I remember someone telling me that that is one of the job options once you complete initiation: fighting for entertainment.

"This must be intense!" Christina shouts in my ear so I can hear her over all of the noise. "Let's watch!"

Begrudgingly, I follow her to an open spot in the crowd so that we can see what is happening in the ring, but in reality I don't want to watch another fight. I have seen enough of those for today, for a lifetime.

But my attention is caught on the fight when one of the fighters turns with his back to me, and I notice a tattoo peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

"Is that Four?" Christina gapes, and I do too. We both watch, her with interest and I with horror as he circles his opponent in the ring and throws a visibly shattering punch that has the audience shouting again.

Everything is wrong about this. _Tobias_ took no enjoyment from fighting, in fact he dreaded it because it reminded him of his father. He only resorted to violence when he had nowhere else to turn.

But this man in front of me is not him. This is heartless Four, who seems to take pleasure in dodging fists and feet and retorting with a skilled blow to the other man's weakest places.

And that simple fact that he has utterly vanished makes tears well up in my eyes, even though I already knew it. It certainly doesn't make matters any better when he takes a cruel hit to the temple, and the impact makes me step back even though I am not the one who got injured.

I don't even stay to see the outcome, though I know he will win. I don't even stay to tell Christina that I am ditching her. I leave before the tears fall, carried out by the sounds of cheers and people betting their points on the winner.

* * *

**So I am considering posting chapters every other day from now on. would you guys prefer that or my current schedule?**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing!**


	9. Chapter 8

TRIS POV

The stone halls are darker than usual, the blue lights that line them flickering dead as I walk past. My footsteps are the only noise that reaches my ears; everything else is distant, like the roar of the chasm, but it grows louder each second.

A sharp clang distracts me, and I look down the hallway to my right to make sure there is no threat. Just as I do, a chill travels down my spine, and a pair of arms grabs me from behind. A hand muffles my petrified scream. I can't struggle out of their grips.

_Not again. Not again._

The mantra repeats in my brain as I wake myself up, screaming into my teeth with fear. Once I realize that I am doing it, I silence myself and flip over on my bed onto my stomach, begging the trembling to cease.

Exhaustion seeps through me. Every single night this happens. All I want to do after initiation is crash in a dreamless sleep, and it is impossible thanks to my troubled mind.

Sighing, I wipe the sweat off my forehead and glance around the dormitory to make sure that nobody saw or heard me. Thankfully, it is mostly cleared, with the exception of a couple sleepers and a few people dressing.

I sit up and scan the room closely. It doesn't seem like everyone left in a hurry, and Christina would have woken me up. Do we not have training today? What is going on?

Just then, Christina walks in with a sullen expression, taking a seat on her bunk.

"What's going on?" I ask quietly, since now seems like a time for quiet voices.

"Someone jumped. Last night," she breathes.

That is four suicides this week. This _week_. And it is worse because this feels like Al all over again, feels close to home since it happened in Dauntless.

"Who was it?" I croak.

She shrugs. "I don't know. He had a family though—a wife and two little kids. I can't believe someone would do that to their family."

Because I can't help myself, I snap, "Some people have their reasons, Christina." Because sometimes when you feel that death is the only way out, you stop caring about things like family, as important as they are to you. At least, that is how I felt when I was suicidal, like nothing could save me.

Shocked at my defensive attitude, Christina's face softens. "I didn't mean it like that, Tris. It's just—"

"It sucks. I know." I take a deep breath. "So what about training? Are we not having it today?"

"No, we are," she answers. "But Four is letting us eat breakfast first, and it's starting at ten instead. I think he said we were working on resistance training and cardio and stuff, to take a break. Or as much of a break as that is."

I need something to distract me. From my nightmares, from the suicides. From the constant fear of impending danger looming over my head.

"Let's go to breakfast," I suggest.

Once I am dressed, we walk through the solemn halls to the cafeteria, where Dauntless members are already well on their way to getting drunk. This happens every time there is a death here, even if they weren't familiar with the deceased.

"Hey, sorry we're late," Christina says in greeting to our table, including Uriah, Justin, and Dez. She jabs her thumb at me. "I had to get this one out of bed."

And none of us are in a joking mood, yet it is what everyone needs to alleviate the dim atmosphere of grief.

Justin carries out the joke. "I didn't take you to be a lazy person, Tris," he admits with a cocked eyebrow.

"Ha ha," I deadpan. "Well, what activities do you think there were to do in Abnegation, other than sleep?"

Uriah tips his bottle of strong alcohol at me. "I still don't know how you survived there," he nearly slurs. "Sooooo boring."

I turn up my lips in response, and I hope he can't see the pity in my face. He must be taking this hard; his girlfriend jumped to her death as well, however involuntarily. A lump grows in my throat when I remember Marlene's bright smile lighting up Uriah's even more, and how she let Uriah shoot a muffin off of her head with a pellet gun on a dare. To this day, I still blame myself for her death, for not grabbing onto her before she fell off the roof, for not turning myself in earlier when I knew that I was what Jeanine was really after.

Marlene, bubbly and sweet Marlene, was collateral damage.

The muffin in my hands now tastes stale, and I am thankful when Dez picks up the conversation.

"Abnegation must be terrible," she says, "but Amity is nearly just as bad. Did you know they put peace serum in the bread? Some people eat it on purpose."

I don't pay attention to the chatter as I go numb and chew my breakfast robotically. A workout actually sounds great right about now, when I am slowly but surely retreating into myself and into my past.

The table goes quiet as Four weaves his way over to us, and I hold my breath, thinking that he wants to lecture me about my behavior yesterday. But he surprises all of us by setting a hand on Uriah's shoulder in a brotherly way and bending down to talk to him.

"I was going to go meet up with Zeke. Do you want to come with me?" he asks.

Uriah nods and takes a big gulp of alcohol. Four cringes and pries the bottle out of his hands before leaving it at the table and leading him out of the dining hall.

"What was that about?" Christina says what we are all thinking.

But I understand the hidden motive. He is distracting Uriah to stop him from drinking any more than he already has. And for a moment I am glad that Four at least has some redeeming qualities, like the ability to look out for his friends.

"Oh, I totally forgot!" Dez exclaims out of nowhere. "Did you guys hear the news?"

Clearly we didn't.

"They're finally putting Jeanine Matthews on trial. It starts tomorrow, I think."

The fact that something good has happened to me is jarring, and I have to blink a few times to make sure that this moment is real. Jeanine—who tortured me and my boyfriend (at the time) and tried to have me executed, who mind-controlled a whole faction to murder innocent people, including my parents—is going to get what she deserves.

"About time," Christina remarks. "I hope she gets the firing squad."

I think I understand Tori's perspective a little more now. Revenge burns hot under my skin as I picture Jeanine burning at a stake, or sitting in an electric chair as she awaits her death.

Me too, Christina. Me too.

* * *

TOBIAS POV

I rise earlier than usual, dressing quickly yet sluggishly, determined to get to the control room and do what I need to do before training starts.

As I make my way there, I try to look like I have a purpose to be going where I am going. And technically I do, but last time I questioned authority, I discovered that it is always better to seem confident going into these situations rather than jumpy.

There are only two people in the control room, leaning back in their chairs and dozing off. They must have had the night shift, and their boss is nowhere to be found, so I hurry across the room to a computer while I have the wide window of opportunity and type in my password.

My computer opens speedily—thank God—and I waste no time pulling video feed from early yesterday morning. I find the camera angled down at the chasm, and rewind until the man who jumped flies back up onto the ledge.

Then I rewind slower and follow him on the cameras, retracing his steps until I find something that indicates that suicide wasn't his idea. He moves backward through the Pit, down several hallways, and finally to what I assume is his apartment, where he leaves the door open while he runs in, presumably to grab something he left there.

That is when a masked figure dressed in several colors enters and leaves the apartment before he does.

I knew it. I _knew_ he didn't kill himself on purpose, that something else is happening here. And for good measure, I play the video until he ends up back at the chasm. He doesn't stop and think of his decision, or take a deep breath, or anything that suggests hesitation. The man steps straight in like he is being told to.

Like he is under a simulation.

The revelation shocks me to the core, and I erase all traces of me going back in time before exiting the control room with sweat on my forehead.

These people aren't committing suicide voluntarily. Somebody is forcing them; how, I don't know, and who, I can't say. The masked man was dressed like the factionless, but that could just be a red herring for all I know.

I wish I had more time to think this through, but right now I could be late for training.

I walk to the training room with long steps, thinking that someone will come after me demanding to know why I pulled video feed when I am not allowed to. Nobody does, of course, and I don't even end up being tardy to training. Tris is the only one in the room when I enter.

She slams her fists into a punching bag, oblivious to my movement behind her as I cross the floor. I admire the way she uses her whole body when throwing a punch, just like I taught her, always keeping tension in her abdomen. I am glad that she is up early and getting ready for the fights today because she will need this head start...

And for a second, I am tempted to tell her about what I found out about the suicides. I can trust her with something like this. Maybe not with other things, like not conspiring with my abusive father, but I can with this.

Yet I am not ready. I need more information, and she needs time. I did yell some pretty damaging diatribes at her only a few nights ago; I am positive that she still hates me, as she probably should since I have not been treating her very nicely in general.

So I hold my tongue and prepare for training, promising myself that if it comes down to it, I will tell her about my discovery.

* * *

"Next fight: Peter versus Tris!"

It didn't feel right when I was randomly drawing names last night and this pair happened. Last year this was a disaster, so sickening that my feet carried me out of the room of their own volition. I still remember the deep color of her blood dripping onto the mat.

But I made a vow to myself that I wouldn't change the pairs unless they were infinitely unfair fights, and this isn't one. Tris isn't weak like she used to be, fresh out of Abnegation and lacking all muscle. She knows how to take someone down, and I don't think Peter, extremely cocky as he is, will be prepared for that.

So I left the match alone, scribbling it down on the chalkboard and hoping that I wouldn't regret this the next day.

When Peter steps up to the ring, he is sprightly and takes his sweet time stretching his muscles. Tris, on the other hand, walks up with a newfound confidence and with her eyes trained on Peter in a way that apparently eggs him on.

"Come on, Stiff. We both know that you won't win this fight," he taunts, setting up his fighting stance.

She smirks back at him, already ready to attack. "You've got another thing coming if you think this is going to be remotely easy for you, Peter."

"Start when you're ready," I say, wanting to see how this plays out.

Tris doesn't waste time. She catches him off guard and hits him straight in the nose, backing up right on time to dodge his own swipe. Peter growls something under his breath, cradling his nose, and they begin circling again.

The tension in the room is palpable. Christina starts cheering for her friend, and a blonde girl whose name I forgot shouts out to Peter in encouragement. A few people fill the room with more noise as they pick sides.

When Tris makes the mistake of going for another blow to his face, Peter uses it to his advantage and lands his own punch on her cheek. She and I both wince when his knuckles slam into her face, and she backs up again to gather herself.

Next Peter tries to go for a kick to her side, and although it does knock her off balance, she stays up and clings to his leg, yanking him forward so that he is forced to fall on his back. Tris pounces on him, throwing hits at his face until he finally has had enough and elbows her in the temple, sending her sprawling on the floor beside him, coughing.

"Come on, Tris," I murmur under my breath.

They drag themselves back to their feet, and from there it turns from exciting to ugly. We all watch as they circle and take turns landing blows, and they are both caked in so much blood that now it is just a matter of who can stay up the longest. Eventually they are both exhausted enough to wobble, and I cringe when I see the blood in Tris's hair. She has taken too many hits to the head.

My heart stops when she cries out for the first time when Peter's fist pummels her in the ear. I beg for her to stay up and fall down at the same time. I can't end this but she can, and if she could just get a few more hits in—

Tris's knuckles come in contact with his temple so hard that we hear it clearly. When they both back up, it seems to be the end and I chant to myself _don't fall, don't fall, don't fall._

Peter goes down first, crashing to the ground with a frustrated and fatigued groan. Tris follows a few seconds later after the applause, establishing her as the winner.

* * *

That night, I don't go home after dinner. I debate to myself if it is right to go visit her in the infirmary, or if it will only cause her unwanted stress. But someone has to appreciate what she did, and she hasn't woken up yet according to the nurse taking care of her, so I figure that she should have someone there when she opens her eyes.

I would have taken her here if I didn't have other fights to oversee, and I knew her friends would get her here okay. Though it doesn't make me feel better to think that when I take in her appearance as I approach the side of her bed with careful steps.

Tris's face looks similar to how it did after last year's fight with Peter. There are cuts in her lip and above her eyebrow, and her face is littered with purple bruises that are glossy with salve. Dried blood streaks her hair in some places, and for a second I regret letting that fight happen just for a moment of glory that she barely remembers. It physically hurts me to see her so broken, to know that the soft skin of her cheek is sore and that she would probably cry out if someone skimmed her temple, where I used to kiss her sometimes.

Her eyes crack open while I am still examining her, first her normal eye and then her black one.

"Hi," I whisper, figuring that she must have a migraine.

Her voice is tight when she rasps out, "Hi."

We stare in silence for a moment as she tries to catch herself up on what happened today.

"Why are you here?" she mumbles.

Good question.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That was a brutal fight. You were out all day."

Her tongue darts out to wet her cracked lips. "Did I win?"

I smile. "Yeah. Yeah, you did."

Tears leak out the sides of her eyes, and she ignores them because it would be too painful to wipe them away.

"I didn't think I could do it."

"I did," I say.

She looks like she is trying to say something, but then she shifts and her face contorts into one of agony.

"Hurts?" I guess.

"Yeah," she grits out.

Checking to make sure that no nurses or doctors are walking by, I alter her morphine doses by clicking the obvious button on the machine next to her bed. Immediately, Tris sighs in relief and sinks back against the pillows again.

"Thank you."

I feel embarrassed standing here with nothing to say, like I have overstayed my welcome, so I ask, "Do you need anything else?"

"No," she breathes. "Just sleep."

"Okay."

After a moment's debate and lack of better judgment, I move closer so that I can press a kiss to her forehead, one of the only places where she isn't injured. It isn't necessarily romantic but it is bittersweet like old times, and I stay there for longer than I should, but she doesn't seem to mind.

"I'm proud of you," I whisper when I pull away.

Her eyes remain closed when I step away from her bed, though I swear that I see more tears run over the swelled contours of her face before I leave.


	10. Chapter 9

TRIS POV

Four stands in front of the tightly packed crowd, a chalkboard leaning against his tall legs.

"Your rankings have been determined by your shooting and fighting ability over the last week. Fighting is weighted more heavily though, as we have spent more time on it and it is more difficult than shooting," he explains. "I've determined your ranks through a system of points, automatically subtracting points from the seventeen-year-olds who completed initiation last year to make it fair for the sixteen-year-olds who are brand new to this. I added a certain number of points to your score if you won, depending on your opponent's wins and losses, and if you lost, I removed points in the same way.

"So these are your rankings as they stand. Remember that you only have until next week to pull your score up. I would advise that you avoid the bottom, since you will are likely to be cut if you are down there. That being said..."

Every initiate shares a breath as we stare at the chalkboard that he hangs on the wall, trying to make sense of it. I have to stand on my tiptoes to see over people's shoulders, and then I am able to make out the names when a few disperse.

I am not surprised, but I do beam anyway.

_1\. Tris_

_2\. Peter_

_3\. Justin_

_4\. Christina_

Christina turns to me and squeezes me in an embrace, squealing loudly in my ear and pressing several painful bruises. I laugh and shove her off so I can scan the rest of the names, the ones that I actually recognize catching my eye.

_8\. Jessica_

_22\. Dez_

_23\. April_

"You're doing great, Dez," I tell her while she frowns at the board.

"Not good enough," she sighs with a shake of her head.

Christina sets a hand on her arm and says, "Hey, you're far from the bottom. You won't get cut, and that's really all that matters this early on."

It's true. I was definitely one of the worst initiates last year, but the second stage was enough to put me right on top, in first place like I am now. Peter even dropped down from second place to fifth in that time period, so anything can happen. Although I doubt my ranking will shift much.

Speaking of Peter, I realize that there is something I want to do. My eyes search the group for him, and once I spot him a few feet away, pursing his lips and looking nearly as worn as I do from our fight two days ago, I start toward him.

"Peter," I call.

He turns his head and watches me incredulously, trying to guess my motive.

"I just wanted to say good job on the fight," I say honestly. And while a part of me wants to be nice, I am also looking out for myself. More specifically my eyes, since last time Peter took second was when Edward fell victim to his malice, and then later me when he tried to toss me into the chasm.

Peter's seemingly innocent, doe-like eyes stay that way instead of hardening at me with a promise for revenge. I hold my breath, waiting for something, anything, and then he sticks out his hand.

"Yeah, okay, Stiff," he replies, and I hear a truce in his voice. A truce is better than being even, and I shake his hand and offer a polite smile before retreating back to my friends.

"What was that about?" Christina scowls.

"Insurance," I say.

Four pulls our attention away from the board and to the larger one standing up close to the ring. "All right, here are the fights for today. If your name isn't on here, then you will fight your third opponent tomorrow, which will be the last day of fights," he announces. "Derek and Bryce, you're first up."

"So _that's_ his name!" Christina exclaims in a hushed voice.

"Which one?" I get a good look at both of the boys, but neither of them stand out to me as somebody I'm supposed to be familiar with.

She points to the sort of scrawny one with black hair. "I've been wanting to know what his name was this whole time, and apparently it's Bryce. He's _cute_."

Dez laughs. "I don't understand your type, Christina," she comments.

Christina even _blushes_ over the guy and keeps her eyes trained on him. Good for her if she likes him; she deserves someone after Will.

"I want a cute guy," Dez pouts.

"I'll find you one," my best friend assures her. "Maybe I can hook you up with someone Uriah knows, since not many of these transfers are good-looking." She pauses and then adds quickly, "And you too, Tris—oh wait, never mind."

"What?" I ask. "Why not?" I don't care about some love interest, but I am curious as to why Christina would take back her suggestion.

The two girls share a knowing glance. When I frown at them, Christina says, "We all know that you're not interested in anyone else."

I tilt my head, trying to figure her out. She is right, but I don't know why they act like it is obvious that I don't want some kind of romance right now, let alone how they would know something like that. Completely stumped, I drop the subject.

I watch the fight with a renewed interest since Christina revealed her crush. Bryce takes a visibly ugly hit above the eyebrow, causing my own cut in the same spot to ache.

My fight with Peter was two days ago, but my body hasn't done much healing since then. I am currently blue and green in more places than I am my normal coloring, and my knuckles are trying to scab over but the gashes in them are taking time. Not that it matters, because today I will tear them open again.

In my distracted haze, I realize that I forgot to even check the pairings for today. I crane my neck to see the name written next to mine, and a challenging smile turns up my lips.

_Tris vs. Jessica_

I glance over at Jessica, who is picking at her cuticles nonchalantly. While she is in eighth place, I don't expect her to be that great of a fighter. And I am eagerly awaiting my chance to beat her in more ways than one, with our slight rivalry as a factor. The only thing I am worried about is my sore body; if somebody called me _Stiff_ right now, I couldn't disagree with them.

The morning passes slowly with each boring brawl out on the mat, landing seven more poor souls in the infirmary. By the time it comes down to Jessica and I, there are ten minutes left until we are supposed to be released for lunch.

"Hurry, let's get this last fight over with," says Four.

I walk up to the ring, stretching out my tender muscles and hoping she doesn't put up too much of a fight. I am extremely grateful that I won't be fighting tomorrow and that the next day is Visiting Day because I am in desperate need of a break.

"Don't worry," Jessica drawls with a bat of her eyelashes. "This won't last long."

I roll my eyes at her pettiness.

"Is something funny, Stiff? Other than the fact that you think you're better than everyone else because of your short-lived, war fame?"

Where did she even get that notion? I shake my head and put my arms out in front of me, elbows locked and ready to spring. "No, but you did just prove how desperate you are," I point out. I don't want to sink to her level, but someone's catcall encourages me.

Jessica scowls and copies my position. "Hag."

"Skank," I fire back.

"Bitch."

"This isn't a verbal fight," Four growls. "Are you two going to stand there and act like children or do what you're supposed to?"

He has always been distracting to me, and Jessica catches me off guard when my mind is occupied by him. She swipes her knuckles across my face, right in a spot where I had been hit more than once by much more powerful fists two days ago. With a gasp, I step back and press my hand to it.

My face is hot as I find my composure. Then I retaliate, getting in punch after carefully calculated punch at her face in between her menacing glares. I hold back my cries every time my knuckles split open again and focus on just getting through this fight.

That is, until she tangles her hands in my hair and yanks so hard I think my scalp will rip off.

I let out a pained yelp and elbow anything in my path until she lets go. And suddenly this fight isn't just about getting through the omnipresent ache but also beating her down because this is personal.

It ends with me being yanked by Justin off of a moaning and bloody Jessica. I hiss and wriggle out of his grip in an effort to get him to stop touching me in sore places.

"Somebody take Jessica to the infirmary," Four orders. "The rest of you are dismissed for lunch."

I barely hear him, crossing the room to a drinking fountain where I can cool off. Christina tries to bother me, and I get her to leave me alone with a promise to meet her at lunch once I get cleaned up. After taking a few sips of water and removing my hair tie from my now disastrous hair, the room is no longer hazy, and I am left to deal with my crippled hands.

"Tris?" I realize that Four is the only other person in the room, and I close my eyes, begging him silently for a moment of peace.

"What?" I whine.

He stops several feet away, like he is approaching a wild animal. "Do you want some help?" he asks. "With your hands, I mean."

In any other situation, I would refuse him. But my knuckles are stinging fiercely and I don't prefer to take another trip to the infirmary, where I already spent a day and a half. Besides, he was kind to me when I was there and looks genuinely concerned now, so maybe he will help me without confusing things further and I will be on my way.

"Okay," I relent.

He nods and assesses the damage I have done. "That's pretty bad," he eventually says. Clearly. "I have some better medicine back at my apartment, if you don't mind going there."

I meet his eyes. The last time I was at his apartment, we slept together, and then I abandoned him and turned myself into Erudite—he hinted that it left scars. We have many memories there, most of them pleasant, though that doesn't make a difference.

I swallow and try to make my decision. While I'm sure that returning there will make me uncomfortable and nostalgic, we will only be there for a short time. There shouldn't be any harm in it...

So I agree. "Yeah, that's fine."

I walk next to him on our way there, matching his pace a full foot away, a friendly distance. It is awkward, and my hand itches to reach out for his because it seems natural in these hallways, in the compound where we used to be happy together.

When we arrive, he lets me in first and then walks to the bathroom to find some remedies for my hands. I stand in the middle of the room with my shoulders tense, scanning the area for any changes since I was last here.

He got a new couch, but the bed is still in the same place with the same blue quilt, and the phrase "Fear God Alone" is still painted on the wall across from it. He doesn't have any keepsakes out of course, and then I discover that I have another mission: to figure out if he has a girlfriend, not that I care or anything. But the room is bare with no evidence of another girl living with him.

Four exits the bathroom with supplies in his hands, and we take a seat on the couch together—thank God for the couch because sitting on his bed would have been too intimate. He takes my hand gently, and my stomach tightens in anticipation for some reason. The feeling goes right out the window when he dabs my knuckles with a wet cloth.

"Ow," I accidentally blurt out.

"Sorry," he says.

The burning subsides after a moment. The worst is over now, and I am left to my own silent thoughts as he cleans both Jessica's and my blood off of my hands.

He furrows his eyebrows in concentration, an expression he does when he is solely absorbed by the task at hand, an expression I am very familiar with. I almost want to reach out and press away the slight lines it makes in his forehead because even though he is always handsome to me, I prefer his smile so much more.

Who am I kidding? These thoughts I am having...I may have been convinced that he was making things complicated, but it seems that I am the one that has a problem pretending that the past is the present.

"I would wrap your hands, but your skin is cut so deep that I'm afraid it would just make things worse," he says, applying some sort of gel to my knuckles with the faintest touch.

"It's fine." I would rather not wear a bandage if I don't have to; I refuse to show weakness to Jessica.

With a sigh, he drops my hands and scans my face and shoulders, all littered with bruises and in plain sight because of the tank top I am wearing. Nearly all of them are leftover from my fight with Peter, with the exception of a couple new ones that have yet to surface.

"I can give you some of my salve, if you want," he offers.

He has already done enough, and my nerves are building the longer I sit here. I am tempted to say no, but then I think about how much more sore my face will be tomorrow and give in.

When Four goes back to the bathroom and returns with a tub of salve, I start to rethink this. Undoubtedly he will help me since I don't know where exactly my face is purple or green, and the idea makes me wary.

So I keep myself busy, applying the salve to my arms and shoulders while he does it to my face. Eventually I run out of injuries though, and I am forced to meet his eyes as he spreads the salve across my tender cheekbone. I get a whiff of the minty ointment, transporting me back into the past when we would lie in bed together and I would catch that same scent on him.

"You look exhausted," he remarks, noticing the dark bags under my eyes.

I close my eyes when he removes his hand. "I am," I affirm.

"Still having nightmares?"

"Yes." That is primarily why I can't get enough rest. There are times when I will almost fall asleep in the dining hall, and when I will wake up with a scream I have to muffle in my pillow in the middle of the night. The other initiates must be irritated by me. It is beginning to be embarrassing, even though I can't help it.

He worries his lip for a moment, contemplating. "Don't take this the wrong way, but do you want to take my bed?" he questions.

"Huh?" I reply dumbly.

With a humiliated look, he averts my eyes. "Not like _that_. I just thought that you can't be getting any decent sleep on that cot on the floor, and maybe that's part of the problem. Just for the next week or so before people get cut, I thought you might want to take my bed, and I can take the couch."

It is too nice of an offer that I can't take it up. And finally I burst, getting what I've wanted to say for a while off my chest.

"God, Four!" I exclaim, standing up and pacing away from the couch. "Which is it? One second you're yelling things at me, blaming me for every mistake I've ever made, and the next you're kissing my forehead in the infirmary and helping me with my hands and being _nice_."

I turn to face him and find him standing as well. He pinches the bridge of his nose and says, "So now I'm being punished for being nice? That's—"

"No," I huff, thoroughly annoyed. "I'm saying that you make no sense. You're constantly sending me mixed signals that I have no idea how to interpret. _You_ broke up with _me_, so why do I have to keep playing guessing games with you when you hate me in the first place?"

He scowls. "I don't _hate_ you, Tris. Just because I broke up with you doesn't mean I do," he corrects me.

I throw my hands up dramatically. "Well, then stop being nice at least! You're making things so...complicated when it doesn't have to be. Why won't you just cut off all ties and let me be?"

Because I refuse to be friends with someone I once loved. The memories combined with his presence are too much to bear, and once you see someone as more than a friend, that relationship will always remain that way; no matter how hard I try to see him differently, he will always be the one who would kiss me in greeting rather than hug, who wouldn't keep a respectable distance, who would be there for me in more ways than a friend ever could.

Four turns his back on me and hangs his head, his shoulder blades visible through his black shirt.

"You knew what you wanted when you made your decision," I spit out past the hurt. He knew that he wanted to kill the last foundations of me, the final pillars that were holding me up during the war.

The sigh that leaves him is heavy and forlorn. "I'm not sure what I want anymore," he mumbles.

I don't pretend to understand what he is talking about. "Well, you better figure yourself out before you do any more damage than you already have. I won't take any more from you."

And then I walk out, slamming the apartment door behind me, the sound of it a finality.

TOBIAS POV

When she leaves, her words are still ringing in my head, firing back and forth across my brain in a torturing echo.

_I won't take any more from you._

And I can't help but think of what I saw when I was cleaning her split knuckles: the faint, white scars lining her left wrist, perpendicular to the vein that runs up it.

There were four of them.

* * *

TRIS POV

"Hey, Tris."

I startle in my seat with a gasp when someone sets a hand on my shoulder, hitting my knee into the table above it. It shakes my leftover dinner.

"Woah, you okay?" Uriah asks. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine," I grit out, massaging the ache in my knee. My constant jumpiness is starting to get on every last of my nerves. I feel like a coward, being so fearful all of the time when I am back in a place where I should be happy and free of the control of my nightmares. This is my home, and I shouldn't be scared in my own home.

Uriah shoots me an apologetic look when he sinks down onto the seat next to me, facing the wrong direction. "Where is everyone?" he asks.

"Christina went shopping with Dez right after dinner." I shrug. "I didn't feel like it, so I stayed behind."

"What about Justin?"

"Still in the infirmary. Peter beat him today."

"Ouch." He leans back against the table. "Why aren't you sitting with Shauna?"

I follow his nod over to her a table down, where she is sitting across from her little brother, Hector.

"She's been wary of me since the Divergent thing during the war," I say.

"Still?" At my nod, he shakes his head. "That's lame," he says, because there is not much else to say on the subject. After a pause, he starts, "Well, I don't mean to be a damper on your mood or anything..."

My eyes shoot up to his. "What is it?" I inquire, concerned.

"There was another suicide."

My stomach sinks. "No." This cannot be true. Foolishly, I thought maybe after the Dauntless one, the worst would be over.

"Yes," he confirms. "A Candor girl this time. Somehow got her hands on a gun."

I close my eyes and take a deep, cleansing breath, but it does nothing to calm the buzz that makes my hands jittery.

"Something is going on," he infers. "This isn't normal."

"No," I agree. "It's not..."

Movement catches my eye, and I glimpse over to my right, where a teenage boy—who must be a year older than me—accidentally walks into the handles on Shauna's wheelchair.

"_Excuse_ me," he says, sarcasm evident in his voice. "I didn't know your big ass wheelchair was going to be in my way, cripple."

His friends behind him chuckle at his "joke" while Shauna hangs her head in shame. Something tells me that this happens often. Too often.

My hands ball into fists when he cracks another joke, teasing Shauna about how she shouldn't even be in Dauntless with her disability. Hector looks like he wants to say something, but Shauna gives him a warning glance that tells him that he would only make the situation worse, so he cowers with her.

And Shauna may not like me, but I am not going to sit back and watch this happen.

So I stand, and when they turn their backs to walk away, I call, "Leave her alone, asshole."

A momentary hush falls over the dining hall, all eyes settling on the scene. Then whispers of gossip and catcalls for a fight fill the silence again.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" The boy steps closer and puts a mocking hand to his ear, as if he didn't catch my words.

"You heard what I said, coward," I seethe, feeling rather than seeing Uriah step up behind me for support.

"Tris," Shauna murmurs, her face a deep red. "You don't have to—"

The boy and his crew throw back their heads and howl with laughter. "You see this little bitch over here?" He points to me, and a couple onlookers chuckle along with him. Judging by the other boys behind him, they are preparing for a fight, which I am not sure Uriah and I can win alone. "Sticking up for the cripple, eh? Why don't you—"

Someone brushes past me in a flash of black. The neck tattoo tells me straightaway that it is Four, and he grabs the back of the boy's neck and slams his head into the nearest table so fast that I don't have time to think.

People all around us whoop and holler with excitement at the action, and I want to myself just because I despise him. Four forces him to stand up again and keeps a firm grip on the back of his neck.

"I-I-I didn't mean it, Four, I swear," he stutters, pleading for mercy that he will not receive. His buddies watch in fear, unwilling to intervene even if it would be three against one.

Four is powerful, in more ways than one. They wouldn't dare challenge their former leader.

"Apologize," he says coolly, despite the deadly, unforgiving look in his eyes. "To both of them."

"Sorry," the boy whimpers.

He doesn't expect the next blow, and neither do I. I flinch when Four brings his face down onto his knee and wonder if his nose is broken now.

"Apologize _sincerely_."

"I'm sorry!" He trembles like a little boy under Four's controlling hand. "I take it back. I shouldn't have said those things."

It satisfies Four enough to let him go. As soon as he and his friends stumble out, the cafeteria bursts into chatter again, as if the whole ordeal didn't just happen.

"Are you okay?" Four asks, bending slightly so that he doesn't completely tower over Shauna.

"I'm okay," she assures him. And then her head turns towards me, and I am surprised by her words and that she actually seems to mean them. "Thank you, Tris. That was brave of you."

I bite my lip. "It was what any decent person would have done," I deflect. Besides, I wasn't even the one to fight them off, so I don't deserve the credit.

Four steps over to me, his eyebrows raised expectantly and his dark eyes already void of any fury.

"Aren't you going to ask me if I'm okay?" I assume, since he always does when any kind of conflict happens.

Unlike during the war, this time he responds to that question with something that makes me stand taller and gives me a sense of pride that I shouldn't get from him—but I do anyway.

"No," he says. "I know that you're fine."


	11. Chapter 10

TRIS POV

The gentle brush of a hand up and down my arm and the pressure of lips in my hair wake me.

I hum, content, and burrow myself deeper into his shoulder. The world beyond my eyelids is bright with the morning sun, but in this safe place of mine—with my face hidden in his neck—I can pretend that it isn't.

"Good morning," he murmurs, his low voice vibrating through his chest, where my hand is placed.

"No," I groan and struggle closer to him, unwilling to get up anytime soon. With a sigh, I dig my fingers into the cotton of his shirt.

His chuckle displaces me because of the movement, but the noise is rare and uplifting enough that I don't mind. The groggy feeling clouding my head keeps me in place while I attempt to drift back to sleep. If I concentrate hard enough, I can block out the red color of my eyelids, the distant sound of a train horn in the city, the stroke of his thumb on my cheek.

"Come on," he whispers. "Time to wake up."

"_Tobias_," I whine in defiance.

"Wake up, Tris."

_Wake up._

I sit up on my cot when I awake and rub my eyes, disoriented, until I can make out the sight of the subject of my dream standing in the entrance of the dormitory.

"Good. Now that your lazy asses are up, I wanted to remind you all that it is Visiting Day," Four barks. "Your families may or may not show up, but if you are lucky enough that they do, I would advise that you keep them at arm's length." With a wry smile, he adds, "We are training you to be soldiers, and not depending on your mother anymore is useful in the matter."

As he stalks out of the room, I am left to deal with the thoughts about my dream, too occupied with it to worry about Visiting Day at the moment. Since the last time we saw each other last year, I hadn't dreamt about him in positive ways. Actually, I hadn't dreamt positively, period. And now I am foolishly hoping that I can somehow transport myself back into my dream, into a time past. I cling to the memory of his hands on me, of being curled up in his bed, of his playful mood, of _happiness_.

I press a hand to my forehead and fall back onto my cot. What is wrong with me? All thoughts of him should be locked away in my mind—he is my ex, after all—and yet I am desiring the safety and warmth that only he could ever offer. In the real world, I wouldn't have these thoughts, but it is a feat to ignore them now when I have the leftover feeling of peace from my dream, something uncommon since I first transferred to this hectic faction.

Four is not the same person as the one in my dream, and I will have to get over it. My lingering attachment will only hurt me in the end, when I am focused on matters unrelated to initiation. Matters that don't return my childish emotions from forever ago, which were only aroused because of a dumb dream.

"Don't look too happy for a little break," Christina says pointedly from her bunk.

I turn my head and offer a glare. She has no idea why my mood is foul.

"You're allowed to not be stiff anymore, Tris! Hello, you're in Dauntless! You're supposed to live it up on your day off." After a pause, she adds, "Although I guess I would be cynical too if my traitor brother was coming to visit me today."

In response to her teasing, I chuck my pillow at her and lie back down with my arms folded. She deflects it and laughs.

"He's not a traitor _anymore_," I correct her, and my own words get me to grin too. What odd situations I have had to deal with. Sometimes they seem so strange that I can't help but see the humor in them, like now.

"Right, right." She throws my pillow back at me. "Well, get dressed and come with me to breakfast, and then you can go meet up with your former-traitor brother."

So I do. We prepare for the day with our tight, black clothes and a little makeup—well, much more for her—before heading to the dining hall for breakfast. After cleaning our plates, we split up to find our families with a promise to meet up later.

There are many more families milling around in the Pit this year, maybe because the war put an emphasis on family and now they see an importance in it. Our leaders may tell us that faction comes before blood, but I have never believed it. I wish that more people would be able to see through such nonsense as I have.

I stay close to one of the walls so that I don't get in the path of families who have one chance every year to meet. It is weird to see the variation between them; I watch as an initiate keeps his hands in his pockets and has a cordial conversation with his parents, and then I see Dez squeal with bliss as she runs to an Amity woman, presumably her mother.

My jaw clenches, a telltale sign that my eyes are about to overflow. Last year my mother was able to attend Visiting Day, even when I believed she would never want to see my face of betrayal again. I left her and my father, and yet she still came to Dauntless with open arms.

I glance around to distract myself, searching for someone familiar in the multicolored crowd, and then I realize that I am inadvertently scanning the area for my mom. That just makes everything worse, and I grunt in frustration when a couple tears leak out. My mother would have been here this year if things were different. And maybe my father too, once he overcame his grudge.

I have been too preoccupied with initiation to think about my parents, when it was at the forefront of my mind when I was sent back to Abnegation. When I told Tobias that I almost killed myself because of him, it was partially the truth; he was one of my regrets, but my parents were the reason for the majority of my pain. Living in the house again, with the ghosts of them in every square inch...it was too much.

Now it is easier to deflect that pain, when I have friends to comfort me and training to keep my attention. But their deaths are like a gaping wound in my stomach to this day, and I find myself unspeakably agonized each time something prods at it.

Wiping away the tears, I will myself to be strong. There is no crying in Dauntless.

It takes a few more minutes before I spot Caleb wandering aimlessly through the Pit in his misplaced gray. The sight of him uncomfortably brushing past tattooed and pierced people is comical. I smile when I approach him, and his expression is one of relief.

"This place is insane," he remarks, pulling me into a hug. "The one time I was here, I was too occupied to look around, and we stuck to the hallways. But it's much different filled with people anyway. It is and isn't how I pictured it."

The troubling feeling in my gut is difficult to ignore for a moment, at the reminder of the time when we broke into Dauntless to disable the simulation that forced soldiers to kill innocent people without a choice. "Well, how _did_ you picture it?" I smirk. "With soldiers guarding every inch, doing their duty?"

He shakes his head, looking up at the glass ceiling far above us. "No, I knew the Dauntless were rowdy, but I didn't think their faction would be this wild. It's also unpractical. Why aren't there railings or something along the paths up there?"

I don't bother to follow his gaze because I know the walkways he is referring to. They line the Pit up above, and I have walked them each many times.

"It's Dauntless, Caleb. They don't think logically here. They want everything to be dangerous."

"I suppose you're right." He grins, his green eyes light. "I've missed you. How have you been? How is initiation?"

"Fine."

He tilts his head. "Your face doesn't look fine," he retorts, his eyes narrowing in on the bruises that still reside on my cheeks and around my eyes.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, that's Peter's fault. I had to fight him a few days ago."

"Did you win?"

I smile slightly. "Yes."

"Congratulations," Caleb says. "I don't think I need to ask you if you're doing good, then."

"I'm in first place for now." I shrug and hope that the conversation will move away from me. Because of Abnegation habits, I still don't like the attention. "Let's talk somewhere else," I suggest. "It's too loud in here."

Grabbing his arm, I drag him alongside me to somewhere more private. Once I decide to take him to the chasm, I head there, but stop dead in my tracks when I see Four leaning against the railing and conversing with Zeke. My dream from this morning thrusts itself forward to the forefront of my mind, meddling with my unresolved emotions.

My breath hitches in my throat. "Let's _not_ go here..."

Caleb follows me along the detour without argument. "How has _that_ situation been?" he asks. "He hasn't been giving you trouble, has he?"

_Yes. Every day_. "No, of course not," I say vaguely. It doesn't sound convincing, so I amend, "It's just awkward, you know? I mean, once you are close to somebody, it doesn't feel normal to treat them any differently than before. So I try to avoid him since we are estranged, but it is easier said than done when he is my instructor."

We take a shortcut to a remote hallway, and once we arrive, I let him go.

"I can imagine," Caleb concurs seconds later.

I lean against the wall behind me. "Enough about me. How is your initiation? Although, I guess it has to be nice because you can't exactly fail it," I tease.

My brother studies our surroundings, seemingly uneasy. "It is going well."

I nudge his foot with mine. "How is Susan?"

He can't hold back the blush that spreads across his cheeks, indicating that his childhood crush is still at large. "Great—I mean, fine," he stutters. "She has had to deal with Robert leaving for Amity again, so I have been there to comfort her and everything..."

"Are you going to date her? Or just stare across your chores at her for the rest of your life?" I finally ask bluntly.

He sighs. "That's simple for you to say. First I have to ask her mother if she would allow me to court her," I have to stifle a laugh because customs are so different here, "and then I don't know what we would even do on an outing. I can't exactly hold her hand or anything."

My smile betrays my amusement.

"What? It may be easy to be in a relationship in Dauntless, but it is a whole other world in Abnegation."

"No, I get it," I say. "I just have never had to worry about something like that, that's all."

When Four and I were developing feelings for another, our actions would have been completely inappropriate in Abnegation. Holding hands, casually touching, sleeping in his bed (even without him), chaste kisses... Plus our situation was full of anything but common occurrences in the teenage dating realm, even outside of our former faction.

Noting that Caleb is constantly glancing back and forth down the hallway, I call him out on it.

"Is something wrong?" I inquire, confused by the sudden change of mood.

"No. I don't know, maybe." He worries his lip. "You've heard about the suicides, right?"

"Yes, obviously." Then, remembering an important fact, I say, "Wait, back up. How did you find that out in Abnegation?"

With a sly look, he admits, "I may have taken a tablet back to Abnegation with me when I was released from Erudite after my trial." He never mentioned this before, but that was around the time when I loathed to even hear the word Erudite—let alone about his traitorous ties—so that must be why it didn't come up. "But anyway, I don't believe that this is some big coincidence."

"I don't either." Not for a second.

Caleb sighs out his stress and continues, "I don't know what is going to become of this, but I do know that the best thing to do is stay out of it. I'm still researching it, but I don't want to call attention to myself or you if things go sidewards. My point is, I want you to promise me something."

I hesitate. "What is it?" I don't make promises lightly. Or ever, really.

Okay, scratch that. I do make promises, like being careful with my life or not turning myself into Erudite, though they don't hold true. Maybe it isn't even that I break promises rather than I am just a damaging person, and however unintentionally, the people I love always seem to suffer at my hands.

Caleb sets his hands on my shoulders, and I understand the importance in what he is about to say.

"I want you to promise me that you won't try to get involved again," he pleads. "If something radical happens, I need to know that you will try to stay out of harm's way and find your way to me."

I scoff at the last part. "Yeah, because I would be much better off in defenseless Abnegation than I would in Dauntless." In my home.

"You would blend in; you wouldn't have a responsibility to fight because you wouldn't be in the faction of soldiers anymore." He pauses when he sees my unyielding expression. "If not, then at least promise me that you'll stay out of sight and out of mind. You're my sister, Beatrice—the only family I have left."

The words strike something in me. Maybe I can do this for him. I have disappointed enough people, but maybe I can sit back and not be the hero for once if things take a turn for the worst.

"Okay," I agree, staring up at his soft features. "I promise."

* * *

TOBIAS POV

Hunter has always struck me as a pertinent man, never wasting time and skipping pleasantries to get straight to the point. But now, as I sit across from him, I can't help but question my observation.

He studies a paper lying on his desk—Max's old desk—silently, twisting the ring in his eyebrow. I don't know why he called me up here to his office in the first place, and so far he hasn't given me an answer, though I don't mind that I have something to keep me occupied on Visiting Day; this day of the year tends to spoil my mood, between watching families reunite in glee and the constant reminder that I don't have a family and that I never will.

Eventually, the lack of conversation is too much, so I say, "You wanted to talk to me about something, sir?"

Hunter clears his throat and slides the paper aside, meeting my eyes with his steely ones that eerily mimic Eric's. "Yes," he replies. "I just wanted to get an idea of how initiation is going."

"Great," I speak without hesitation. "I think the transfers are picking up combat skills quickly, and it has been much easier this time around because of last year's transfers knowing what to do as well."

He nods. "How many do you believe will be cut?"

With a moment's pondering, I tell him, "I am guessing that eight will leave this time around."

He acknowledges me with a hum.

I await his next response, but it doesn't happen. Hunter only stares down at the table and converses with his own thoughts. And that is when I figure out that he doesn't want to make small talk with me about the fundamentals of initiation.

Beginning to feel uneasiness creeping in, I ask, "I don't mean to sound rude, sir, but is there another reason that you called me here?"

"Yes," he sighs. "I'm going to be frank with you, Four. With the loss of so many Dauntless last year, we're practically out of guards, since we have to keep the other half on a rotation and let them have time off. Our priority is the fence, of course. But the factionless have become increasingly rebellious, not just in their sector but in the factions as well."

"I'm well aware," I state slowly. "What does this have to do with me?"

He levels a calculating look at me. "Are you confident with your initiates' skills, then?"

"Yes..." Oh. I get it now.

"Great. Well, I think it would be best if we station the initiates on patrol in the factionless sector after they have completed the first stage of training. Not only will it fill in the spots we need filled, but it will also provide them with the opportunity to get a feel for the job that most of them will end up with, or persuade others that that is an ideal career."

While I am not in a position to refuse orders, I am a bit protective of my initiates. The idea of some of the more vulnerable ones keeping the factionless in check with bulky rifles doesn't sound as if there will be a nice outcome.

"I'll see to it," I reply begrudgingly, though he doesn't seem to pick up on it. Pushing myself up from the chair, I ask, "Will that be all?"

He raises a hand to me. "One more thing: I wanted to quickly discuss your relationship with one of the initiates."

I freeze like I have been caught red-handed, though I am unaware of what for. "What do you mean?"

"I am well aware of your former relationship with..._Tris_, is it? I wanted to make sure that this isn't causing any bias in the rankings. I mean, it does come as quite a shock to me that a scrawny Stiff is in first place, regardless of the fact that she completed initiation last year."

My face burns at the accusation. I don't like it when people question my judgment, or my integrity. "My former relationship with Tris is just that: _former_," I clarify, with my hands balling into defensive fists at my sides. "She is only in first because she deserves it, after beating the best male initiate in a fight. Plus, she placed first last year as well, so it seems that she is continuing the trend."

Hunter purses his lips in distrust, making me clench my jaw. I don't know why I'm so bitter inside about this conversation when Tris and I aren't even remotely together.

"All right," he relents. "But I will look out for that, Four. Max may have permitted trainer-initiate relationships, but I will not."

_Maybe if you have enough time to stalk my love life, then you're not doing your damn job well enough_, I want to spit out. But talking back to Max never got me anything I wanted and even set me backwards, so I keep my mouth shut.

"Of course not, sir." I offer him a tight-lipped smile before exiting his office.

For the next few hours, I sulk in the control room, angered by the tone Hunter used with me and how he dictated everything from the way I run initiation to my private life. At this point in my life, I am past being fed up with everyone trampling me and exercising all control over me. I have had to handle it in Abnegation, with my father; in my initiation, with Eric; in the last few years as a Dauntless member, with Max. And now that Hunter has repeated the cycle all over again, I almost desire to step up to the leadership position again if only to prevent assholes like them from holding that power.

As I sit there and mull over these thoughts, an urge to revolt against the system stirs inside me. Not like the factionless, who wish to gain authority over everything so they can crush anyone associated with factions. Instead I want to have a bloodless revolution, where situations get better, where light is shed on the truth, where I prove these faction higher-ups wrong.

And I realize that I can do all of these. I already have proof—minimal proof, but still proof—that the suicides that are occurring commonly now are not voluntary. I know that somebody out there is behind this, and if I find out who and how, I can save people in advance, like I was unable to when I knew strategical information prior to the war.

But I can't do all of this alone.

While Tris isn't a predictable person, she is easy to locate, though that may have to do with my familiarity with her. She has distanced herself from her friends today, as I expected of her on a day devoted to family—her mother and father won't show up to Visiting Day, and that must hit home for her. She is one of seven initiates holed up in the dormitory, so I wait for her to exit to presumably head to lunch, which is when I grab her arm from behind.

I don't expect the wild and desperate punch she throws when she rounds on me as a flash of blonde hair, but I do manage to block most of the force with my arm.

"Woah, calm down," I say, noting the frantic look in her stormy eyes. "It's me."

Clearly she is not glad that I am not anybody else. "What do you want?" she sighs.

I lower my voice when I see a group of laughing Dauntless members come rushing down the hall. "I need to talk to you about something." It piques her interest. "But not here. Meet me at the chasm."

We split up. As ordered, she shows up to the ledge in the chasm before I even get there. It is strange to approach her in a place where not too long ago we had our first kiss with the mist of the roaring water hitting our shoes.

"What's this about?" She wrings her hands in nervous anticipation.

I am straight and honest with her when she asks. "I don't think that all these suicides are just a coincidence," I blurt out.

Waiting and holding my breath for her to call me insane and leave, I watch her face contort into a skeptical one. "I don't either," she concurs.

The tension in my chest releases. "I found something," I say. "I went through the camera feed in the control room a few days ago. The man that jumped into the chasm was forced to—I don't know how or why, but I have a feeling it has to do something with simulations. I saw someone follow him into a room, and then when they both left separately, he went straight to the chasm and leaped right in without a second thought."

She considers this. "I thought the Abnegation regulated Erudite serums now."

"Yes, but how well did they do that before? And besides, would you ever trust anything the government says again?"

The quick tilt of her head tells me that she agrees with my analysis.

"So I don't exactly know where to go from here," I admit. "But I do know that something has to be done to stop this from happening again."

"Okay, but why ask _me_ for help?" Tris asks with her eyes narrowed in distrust. "What do you want to get out of this?"

I roll my eyes at her stubborn attitude and shift my weight from one foot to another. "I don't _want_ anything, Tris. With or without a partner, I am solving this, and I just don't know who else to trust with this." As much as I like my friends, they don't understand the concept of government corruption, even after the war. If I asked Zeke to disobey a Dauntless leader's orders, it wouldn't go over well. Hell, when Shauna found out about Tris's Divergence—something against the system—she turned on her despite her relationship with me, one of her best friends.

"And I know that you care that people are dying," I say. "You're smart. You don't trust people in power, either." When I see her wavering expression, I try to convince her with a soft, "We were a good team once, weren't we?"

Tris closes her eyes and turns her back on me for a moment. "Tell me about the person that went after the man who jumped," she demands, and I think I have her right where I want her, although why should she help? As she said a couple of days ago, I have done enough damage. When I look at her now, it is difficult to blink away the image of her lying on her bed in Abnegation the night she cut herself, void of any and all humanity. When I blink again, I see the scars that were hidden away by the bandage on her wrist. There were four of them. _Four_.

Straightening my posture, I answer, "He was wearing mismatched clothes, so he could have been factionless, or he could have easily been anyone else disguised as factionless."

She turns back to me with her arms crossed, and I watch a pebble that her foot kicks fly into the depths of the chasm. "Do you have any idea who could be behind it? Any other hints?"

"No," I huff, frustrated. "But I want to point fingers at Erudite if only because I think serums are involved." And they haven't been trustworthy in the past...

"Well..." She bites her lip. "I want to help, and I have an idea, but I don't know where we would even go from here."

This is precisely why I need her: to point out things I cannot see, to steer me in the right direction. "What is it?" I ask.

"We don't know who is behind it, but we do know the names of the people who are being killed. Maybe to find out who it is, we have to look at their targets, see if they're connected in some way," she explains. Her plan makes sense, but how would we find this information? "There's no way we can get that background we need on them though."

"Why not? Who has..." I trail off.

Oh. The only place where that information would be stored is in Candor, where all files and criminal records and background checks are held.

"Candor is a fortress. I have no idea how we would get in and out unnoticed, let alone if it would even be worth it."

She has a point, but I am reluctant to give up on our only lead right now. "Look, let's worry about the fundamentals later," I tell her. "We'll figure it out. For now though, don't tell anyone about this. And it is best if we aren't seen with each other on the cameras." Not just because of our plot, but also because I have a Dauntless leader evaluating who I spend my time with...

"Okay," she responds and turns to leave.

"Tris, wait," I call after her. She meets my eyes without the usual ferocity that is aimed at me. "I need to be able to trust you with this."

I couldn't even trust her before, when she supposedly loved me. Maybe this was a mistake.

Her face is unreadable when she says, "You've always been able to trust me, Four. With every decision I made, I thought of you first."

There is a flash of the old Tris, an insistency, a blue spark in her charcoal eyes, and then she is gone.

And I am left at the bottom of the chasm to ponder her words, wondering if she really meant them, or if she was trying to somehow make up for the fact that she didn't.

* * *

**Who was tricked by the first scene hahaha**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing!**


	12. Chapter 11

TRIS POV

It seems as though as soon as my head touches the sad excuse for a pillow on my cot, I am awakened by people yelling and flashlights shining in my sensitive eyes. And suddenly I don't remember why I found capture the flag so enjoyable last year.

"Wake up!" Four shouts over the sounds of disgruntled initiates stirring awake. Through the beams of light, I make out the figure of Lauren standing next to him. "Enough of the pathetic groaning. Get dressed and be at the train tracks in ten minutes or consider yourselves factionless."

With an unamused sigh, I sit up and pull a jacket on and replace my pants with a tighter, less comfortable pair. When I am tying the laces on my shoes, Christina hops off her bunk to stand in front of me, fully clothed and alert.

"What time is it?" I ask between a yawn.

She checks her watch. "One," she answers.

Grumbling unintelligible things to myself, I shove myself off of my cot and follow her out of the dormitory.

The Dauntless compound is always on the cool side, but tonight—despite it being summer—it is even colder outside. I zip my jacket up all the way in an attempt to keep out the slight chill, at least until we begin our training exercise. One by one, initiates file out of the compound and into the night. It is the first time we have been outside in a week and a half.

Justin wanders over to where Christina and I are huddled together.

"Why so grumpy, Tris?" he teases, his brown eyes looking even more awake than Christina's.

I level a warning glare at him. "It's one in the morning."

At my words, Uriah practically skips over to us with a grin that indicates that a joke is due at any moment.

"Only you two could be this chipper in the middle of the night," I remark, walking over to the crate that carries paintball guns and the identical one that holds ammo.

"Lighten up," Uriah says as he loads his own gun. "Or I'll shoot you with one of these, and then you'll really be awake."

Undeterred by the threat, I slide the strap hooked onto my paintball gun over my head and cross my arms. The last few initiates trickle out of the compound and spill out in front of the tracks. The train has still yet to make an appearance, and I can tell that Four is impatient by his wide yawn and the way he fidgets with the paintball gun slung around his shoulder. Sometimes I wonder why he makes us do these petty exercises, when we both know that real war is nothing like this.

A train horn sounds. We all aim our heads toward the end of the train tracks, where a train turns the corner, its headlights blinding all of us momentarily. It travels over the tracks with a _click-click_ and rumbles the ground beneath our feet.

Before it passes, we wisely get a running start. My friends and I get split up as we jump on the train, so I am one of the last ones left to do so. Except, unlike the other few initiates that have yet to board the train, I get help from an unexpected source.

I don't know if it is because we are supposed to be a team now with the whole suicide conspiracy, or if it really is just a kind gesture, or if he is just helping everyone else on and I'm not special. But either way, Four holds out his hand to me as I run alongside the moving car, and I take it gratefully, still sore and recovering from my recent brawls.

"Thanks," I say once I am standing inside the train, facing him out of breath.

He gives me a passive nod and heads to the middle of the car, where Lauren is. I don't know what to think of his actions, so I don't.

"He still has it bad for you," Christina says bluntly in my ear.

I shake my head at her absurd statement. "You're kidding, right? He hates me; he constantly reminds me of it," I tell her quietly.

She forces me to face her with her hands on my shoulders. "You don't understand. I'm trained to see these things, as a former Candor. Four doesn't just randomly hand out acts of kindness, and he only helped _you_ on the train, if you didn't notice. He treats you differently."

"Of course he treats me differently. We were together once, and now it is awkward."

"That's not it though. Sometimes I catch him looking at you when you aren't looking. And besides, I'm not going to pretend not to know how you got through gun training. He obviously helped—"

"So what? That means he's in love with me?" It is a feat not to raise my voice on this train full of initiates. I huff and brush her hands off. "I'm not going back down that road, Christina. So I don't know what you want to happen here, but it's not going to."

She purses her lips and turns away from me when Dez slides her way through the crowd to join our conversation. I don't worry about Christina; she will come around. Sometimes we just butt heads because of her nosy behavior and my defensiveness.

"What are we doing up at this time in the morning, exactly?" Dez asks, eyeing her paintball gun with confusion. "What does this thing even do?"

"We're playing capture the flag," Uriah replies. "And the guns shoot balls of paint that splatter all over you when you get hit."

Dez scans the gun with a renewed interest. "This would be fun if I wasn't so exhausted."

"_Exactly_," I agree, wondering why we can't play at nightfall or at least get to sleep in tomorrow morning. With the amount of slumber time I waste on succumbing to nightmares, sleep is a simple thing that I revere now.

"Listen up!" Four's voice is jarring and gets the weary initiates back on their feet. "We're playing capture the flag. Lauren and I will choose our teams, and then we will jump off and make a plan before fighting. If you run out of ammo, resort to your combat skills. If you get hit—which will be obvious because of the paint—then you're out; I know how you Dauntless-born will try to stay in to salvage your pride." A few agreeing chuckles travel through the group. "This exercise is not just a game. It is supposed to teach basic teamwork skills and working towards a common goal, so treat it seriously."

Once he is finished speaking, Lauren steps up beside him. "All right," she says. "Now that that's all out of the way, the captains will choose teams..." She looks at Four expectantly.

"Ladies first," he offers.

She grins, seemingly hoping that he was going to say that. I don't like that look she wears, like she knows him enough to predict his actions. "Derek," she chooses.

Four bites his lip and considers his options. I know the kind of team he will be going for—fast and smart and stealthy—but I still don't expect him to outright pick me first and foremost.

"Tris."

With an eye-roll, I walk across the train car to stand by his side. What point is he trying to make here?

"I don't want to be on your stupid team," I mumble hotly, childishly. Somehow he manages to infuriate me at any given opportunity, and by the smirk on his face, I can deduce that he enjoys it.

"Too bad," he whispers discreetly. "I need someone on my team that I can blame when I lose."

It cracks a smile out of me that I try to stifle.

By the time the teams are evenly distributed, Uriah and Dez are on my team, and Christina and Justin have been sent to the other. While I hope that I don't run into my friends on the opposing team, I am curious to know how it would play out if I did get in an altercation with one of them. But I specifically don't want to hurt Christina, even if I am slightly irritated with her at the moment.

Four's team jumps off first. With the light of the moon and a couple of flashlights to guide us, we jog to the far end of the Navy Pier, near the same carousel that my team began at last year. And similarly to last year, everyone bickers about the plan: about who should go where, about who should receive what task, about who should even be in charge in general.

"Did you win last year, Tris?" Dez asks between all of the arguments happening simultaneously amongst our team.

"Yes," I reply.

"How did you do it?"

Maybe I shouldn't tell her our previous strategy that we used, but at this time of morning, I am too exhausted to care about learning experiences. I shrug. "What anyone would do, really. We scouted and found their flag, and then we separated into a few groups to be offense and defense. They weren't expecting a group to come around the back, so we took them down pretty easily," I recall.

Dez nods. "Makes sense." And by her expression, I can tell that she desperately wants to get a word in and suggest the plan to the group.

After a couple more minutes of the initiates continuing their heated arguments, Uriah steps into the middle of the group and takes control. I laugh quietly to the side with Dez as he condemns their stupidity that has wasted time and puts them all in their places.

"Since all of you are terrible at this, I'll make the decisions," he states, leaving no room for objections. "Right now, I'm going to split all of you losers into teams with different positions, so listen carefully."

He proceeds to list off names of people whom he wants to assume a defensive position, or to hide the flag. When he gets down to scouting, I realize that there are really only a few people left that haven't been given orders yet.

"Dez and Bryce, you two go scout together. Tris and Four, you do the same." He sends a wink in my direction.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Thanks, Uriah. I'll remember this.

In our designated teams, we all split up to complete our assigned duties. Four follows me further down the Navy Pier, although I think he could lead me there instead, since he must know where we are headed. How many times am I going to get stuck in a situation where I have to converse with him and be near him? I swear, luck will never be on my side.

Thankfully, we walk to the Ferris wheel in silence. It is still as rusty and forlorn as ever, stretching up high above my head with its great spokes poking at the night sky. The sight of it leaves an ache in my chest, a longing for a simpler time, when I didn't have to stress about the slight possibility of instability leading to another war, or grieve over friends and family. Back then, I was only focused on passing initiation, and then I had the luxury of falling in love along the way.

There are no current moments I cherish anymore.

Without wasting time, I ditch my paintball gun on a patch of overgrown grass and start climbing the untrustworthy ladder that creaks under my weight.

Once I am up several rungs, I notice how quiet it is behind me. I turn around and find Four staring up at me with dread in his eyes, obviously debating whether or not to challenge one of his only fears tonight.

"Are you coming or not?" I ask. It is best if I don't do this alone, after my near-death experience last time.

The words, "For old times' sake," barely reach my ears before he tosses his gun aside and steps onto the bottom rung of the ladder. Then, for a while, the only noises in the night are the groans of protest made by the supports of the Ferris wheel and Four's labored breathing below me.

"Shit, Tris," he pants, and I stop to glance down at him with my arm secured by the ladder. Sweat has broken out across his forehead, and his dark eyes are vulnerable in a way that I haven't seen since I told him I loved him for the first time. "Do you just love to torture me or something?"

Even though he is partially joking, I frown. "Because you never tortured me," I bite back sarcastically, turning to continue up with ladder.

"We've always tortured _each other_," he corrects me. His voice is less tight now that he is distracted by the conversation and not the distant pavement. "That's how it's supposed to go."

Maybe that is why it all ended. It wasn't all his fault, or wholly my fault. We both tore each other to pieces in a toxic relationship. There wasn't any way it could have ended happily, and the split was the only way we could survive. It was a matter of self-preservation, not spite.

Recalling a distant memory that relates to his words, my mouth twitches at the corners. "Well, we both aren't very nice, so that's why we liked each other so much, remember?" I ask, echoing the exclamation that I made while influenced by peace serum in Amity.

A rough laugh escapes him, and a part of me lightens at the sound. "Of course. How could I forget?"

After a few more steps up the rusted ladder, I pause. "We can stop here," I say. It is not nearly as high as we went last time; we are only at the top of the ladder. But it is still a great view that makes me buzz with energy because of the height.

He releases a relieved breath in response but continues climbing until he is standing one rung beneath me, so that we are at the same height. Because of his close proximity, we are pressed together tightly with our sides against the metal and my back to his chest. We haven't been flush together like this in a very long time, and it makes a blush appear under my cheeks for unexplainable reasons.

We stare out at the darkness together, watching but not watching our surroundings. Lights twinkle in the inner city, evidence of the Erudite researching even this far into the night. It surprises me that they would waste energy on late night study sessions, unless they are up to something much more diabolical, like creating serums to commit mass mind-control and murder.

I silently chastise myself for thinking it. My skepticism for the Erudite still hasn't faded with time.

"Somehow I know they're behind the suicides," Four says against my ear, echoing my own thoughts back to me. I had almost forgotten about our pact to investigate and hopefully stop the suicides, and when I remember, I feel guilt clench at my stomach; I had promised Caleb that I wouldn't get involved in any more conspiracies, and here I am, diving straight into the heart of another problem.

Then, after a pause, Four adds, "Did you hear that Jeanine went on trial?"

"Yes," I reply.

He hums and grips the metal bar next to us tighter, so that his knuckles are white. "It's asinine that after all she did to the Dauntless and to the Abnegation and to us—torturing us with fists and serums until we were expendable—that they still have to put her on some lengthy trial. Although maybe it won't take too long if they use truth serum."

It reminds me that he got the worse end of the torment in Erudite. Jeanine may have poked and prodded my mind until it was drained of all intellectual capabilities, but Four was tested with serums too, and Jeanine's guards never laid a hand on me like they did him.

Shuddering at the thought of having to say goodbye to him before my execution, I press myself closer to the ladder for balance.

"I'm surprised nobody killed her when they had the chance," I remark. The Dauntless may not have had guns at the time in Erudite to exact their revenge on the woman who enslaved their minds to make them murderers, but the factionless had reason to hate her as well. All they did was take her into custody though.

"I would have, but I wanted to see if she would access her computer and give up the information that you went back for."

The revelation astonishes me. I turn the top half of my body as much as this position will allow me to. My lips are parted, but I can't get words out. I thought he _helped_ the factionless destroy the important information that he claimed Marcus was lying about. No, instead he took my word. He disregarded what they wanted and trusted me enough—minutes after he ended things with me—that he attempted to obtain the information that I betrayed him and my faction for.

He doesn't meet my gaze. "I never told you this, but the factionless found us before she could access it and held me at gunpoint so they could take her downstairs to Evelyn. Otherwise, I would have gotten to the information before they had erased it. And it was there; whatever it was, I saw the file."

My voice cracks on the way out, full of emotion. "You...you believed me," I state.

He chuckles briefly, but the sad look in his eyes doesn't slide past me. "Against my better judgment, yes." Finally, he looks down into my eyes, and I feel like I might break at how soft they are, if only for a second. "I regret a lot of things that I did that day, but that wasn't one of them."

My mind fills in the blanks hopefully. _He regrets the way he treated me, he regrets abandoning me..._

Suddenly I don't want to hate him anymore. All this time I have pushed him away and pretended that he was despicable as a defense mechanism, to protect myself from the pain of the loss. But I can't deny who he is any longer, who he has always been, beneath the fortified exterior that he has built up since the war.

"Tobias," I whisper breathily, longingly, because I don't know what else to say. It is the first time I have uttered his name since he confronted me in Jeanine's personal laboratory; the name comes easily, but it feels foreign, like I need to spend time repeating it before it comes naturally.

He disregards me. "There's the flag," he says, pointing at a tower in the distance, where it glows in the window. "Now can we get off this damn thing?"

Despite my desire to continue this conversation—I haven't felt that close to him, or anyone for that matter, for a long time—I relieve him by agreeing that we should climb down the ladder. Once we are on stable ground again, we jog to meet our group, our tender moment forgotten as we plan out our attack.

The tower rises tall over the same clearing surrounded by trees where the flag was hidden last year. We decide to take a similar approach too. We split into three teams: offense, defense, and a group that will sneak around the back, up into the tower, and to the flag. Tobias—I may as well call him that while he is on my good side—and I are named off as offense, so we lead the team to the front, making sure to take cover behind the trees as we slowly but surely take the other team out.

Before long, Dez appears at the top of the tower, waving the flag in the air with enthusiasm that is matched by the rest of our team. I allow myself to join them in their victory cries while our opponents throw down their guns with frustration.

One of the members of the other teams shoots at us even though the game is over—maybe jokingly, maybe not. Either way, it starts a mock war, and each team begins shooting at each other again, even breaking off into smaller groups and turning on their friends.

I stay leaning back against a tree, smiling as I watch the initiates have their form of Dauntless fun. But I am shocked out of my reverie when my arm stings. When I glance down at it, it is dripping blue paint, and Tobias stands not far off, looking nonchalant.

"You're so dead!" I shout teasingly, firing my own shot at him. He dodges and I miss, and red paint splatters on the tree next to him.

His laughter drives me to action to prove him wrong. And then we shoot at each other, managing to hit arms and legs and torsos until we are covered in paint and we are both out of ammo. With no other defense, he resorts to physical contact, chasing me down while I shriek and try to outrun him.

But as I am running away, I don't watch the path in front of me closely enough, and I accidentally step right into slippery mud. I crash to the ground with a groan that quickly turns into a laugh when Tobias slips and lands right next to me. And there we are, a chuckling pile of paint and mud, two teenagers that were never gifted with fun finally getting the chance to experience it despite the weight of a past war.

Once we manage to calm down, he pushes himself up and offers me a hand. I take it, standing up so that I am eye-level with his chest, though I look up at his face. The grin hasn't worn off his face yet, and it makes his eyes crinkle in a way that somehow manages to take any and all weight off my shoulders. There is no death or war or chaos in the world. There is no more guilt.

There is only Tobias and his shy smile.

Too preoccupied with my focus on how handsome he is, I failed to notice that his grin had faltered slightly. Before I can do any more than briefly see it, he closes the space between us and lowers his mouth to mine.

I am too stunned to do anything but stand there, rigid. The kiss is tentative, almost like our first one, but this time he knows what he is doing. His lips are just as I remember them: soft and warm and promising, trying to rouse mine to action. They take me back to a time when I had something to live for, when I felt like I didn't constantly have a pressure on my chest that makes it a struggle to breathe. And even when I was struggling to keep my head above the river of guilt, he could remind me that I had to continue fighting with just the touch of his lips on mine.

But before I can reciprocate—though I don't know if I would have—he pulls back. He meets my wide eyes with his own.

After a moment of hesitation, I ask, "Why did you do that?"

Does he realize how complicated he just made everything, even more so than he had been? Does he realize that we cannot automatically go back to how we used to be now, because a kiss doesn't fix everything? What was his motive?

But when I take into account that he seems as taken aback as I am, I figure out that this was on instinct and not planned.

"I-I don't know," he answers.

With a demand for an explanation trapped in my throat, I decide that it has to stay there because now the other initiates are heading toward the train.

* * *

Later that night—or early morning, really—after having taken a shower to rid myself of the dried paint and dirt, I find it difficult to wind myself down. Every part of me is still buzzing with Dauntless adrenaline from the paintball game, though maybe I just tell myself that to play off the fact that Tobias kissed me.

Christina went to bed before I had a chance to apologize for the way I snapped at her. So, with nothing to do, I aimlessly wander the compound until I can get the inevitable exhaustion to come through.

I wind through several hallways, cross the chasm, and eventually end up in the Pit. Some Dauntless members and initiates alike are still awake, most of them with a flask in their hand. All of them seem to be having fun, until I hear the laugh of someone who must be having the time of his life.

Tobias has his head thrown back, laughing so hard at something Zeke said that he has to back up and place a hand on the stone behind him to steady himself. Or maybe he is off balance because of the brown bottle in his hand.

At first I don't care. He looks like he is joyful for once, so why should I ruin that? But the more I think about it, the more I realize that Tobias has loose lips when he drinks alcohol. I have really only seen him drunk once—it must not be a common occurrence—and even though he was not as drunk as he seems to be now, he had the nerve to tell me I looked good, back when I was his initiate and nothing more yet.

And what is stopping him from mentioning the investigation we are delving into, or that he kissed me tonight? The thought worries me to the point where I decide to step in. At least the first time I confront him after our kiss will be fuzzy for him...

"Tris!" he calls when he sees me approaching. And it's stupid, but a part of me melts at the image of him genuinely glad to see me. "Come join us."

"If I have to," I say, stepping closer to them and scratching some stray paint off the skin of my neck.

Zeke tips his flask at me. "Not drinking tonight?" he asks.

"No. I'd rather have a clear head for knife-throwing tomorrow." Plus, I don't enjoy the taste, from what I recall from a sip I took last year.

Tobias may be intoxicated, but he is still perceptive. "Here," he beckons to me, offering me his bottle as his eyes slide past mine. "It'll help you sleep."

It is tempting. And even though I was supposed to come over here to monitor him and hopefully coax him to stop drinking so he wouldn't accidentally say anything important, I take the bottle from him. With one touch of the bitter drink to my tongue, I cough, almost spitting it out.

"Don't kill yourself, Tris," Zeke chuckles. And then, because of the current situation in our city, he amends, "Sorry, I guess I shouldn't joke about that."

Tobias shakes his head, and I notice that his hair is damp in the low light, since he must have showered. "No, it's okay," he tells Zeke. "They aren't actually suicides—"

An alarm goes off in my head, and I reach up and press my hand to his mouth before he can reveal anything else. He gives me a questioning look as I remove my hand.

Then I try to play off the situation so that Zeke doesn't think anything of it. "Looks like someone is a little too drunk," I declare. "I should get him home."

Handing the bottle off to Zeke and bidding him goodbye, I drag a protesting Tobias off with me out of the Pit.

"Are you insane?" I snap. "You can't go around saying stuff like that!"

"Huh?" he slurs, the drinking fully catching up with him.

"You were the one telling me that you needed to be able to trust me, but obviously it's you who can't be trusted. If the wrong person had heard what you said, it could have gotten us killed!"

He pouts his lip slightly, puzzled. And when he nearly trips over his own foot, I realize that now is not the time to chastise him. He is an intoxicated boy, and he won't remember any of this in the morning.

After watching Tobias wobble and almost fall three times in a row, I huff and pull his arm over my shoulder, letting him lean on me. He hums sleepily and rests his head on mine. It reminds me of when he used to tuck me into his chest, a protective hand on my head, pressing his cheek against my hair.

Leading him all the way to his apartment is a struggle. At one point I am tempted to leave him laughing his head off in the hall, but I finish the task of dropping him off, if only to prevent him from spewing out dangerous information.

"Okay, where are your keys?" I ask when we arrive at his door. I let him go, and he slumps against the wall.

"Umm..." Clumsily, he digs through his pockets until I can't take it anymore. I shove my hand into his pocket and pull out his keys, jamming one of them into the lock.

His apartment is dark, but the moon shining through the window is enough light that I can make out where his bed is. So I lead him over to it, and he falls down onto it when his knees hit the edge.

"What're you doing?" he mumbles when I begin untying his shoelaces.

"Just go to sleep, Tobias."

He huffs stubbornly. "I don't wanna sleep without you," he admits.

It makes my cheeks burn, but I just shake it off. He clearly doesn't know what he is saying.

In reality though, I haven't had a good night's sleep in what feels like years. Not like I had with him next to me, anyway.

Setting his shoes next to the bed, I stand up to leave. But his hand catches my arm before I can move away from the bed.

"Don't go," he begs, his eyes drowsy and his breath sharp from the alcohol, and I wonder why he felt the need to drink in the first place.

To remove his hand, I take it in mine. This is the first time I have reciprocated any contact since I came back to Dauntless. And it feels essential to have his fingers pressed against mine, like he is striking a match against my skin.

"I have to," I try to explain. "Trust me, this will all make sense in the morning. I'll see you tomorrow."

He gives in, loosening his grip on my hand and allowing his eyelids to close. "Love you..." he murmurs, slipping off into unconsciousness.

Delusion has fully taken over him, but I can't help but let the words bounce back and forth across my skull. They have the same ring that they used to, even though he doesn't mean them.

I don't leave yet. It reminds me of something he said when he was coercing me to shoot a week ago, and I can't let my thoughts go unsaid. So I speak aloud with nobody else to hear.

"I said that I loved you before I left," I say. I brush a stray lock of hair away from his forehead, glad to see the crease between his eyebrows missing, if only in slumber. "It didn't take me until after we escaped. And if you were awake, I would have said it and meant it all the same."

Before I go, I set a glass of water and pain pills on his nightstand, for the hangover he is bound to have.

I may have unresolved feelings to deal with now, since our kiss, but I can't pretend to hate him anymore. I loved him too much to not owe him respect now.


	13. Chapter 12

TRIS POV

With a mere three hours of sleep fueling me, I drag myself into the training room. It is almost eight o'clock, but Tobias isn't here yet, and as much as I want to get training over with so I can take a nap, I am glad.

I can't even begin to imagine how awkward today is going to be. How could he kiss me, after how assertively I have been pushing him away, after how clear we have both made it that we would have no chance together in this world after that disaster of a war?

More awkward still, I can't deny that I enjoyed it and wish I would have made the most of it.

Closing my eyes for a brief rest, I recall Christina's words from the night before: "He still has it bad for you." I had snapped at her in defense, but now I realize that I have to apologize like I planned to last night, only sincerely now.

Because she might be right.

But I don't think I want that; I can't risk being in a relationship again. We have agonized each other in unspeakable ways that neither of us will ever forget about. I would rather both of us part ways once more than be the creators of our own destruction.

Maybe I am overthinking this. Maybe it was a spur of the moment thing, and he completely regrets his actions, and he will make that clear. I don't know. Only time will tell.

Christina walks in a minute before eight, looking nearly as weary as I do, even as the morning person she is. We approach each other, and at the same time, we both say, "I'm sorry." We must both despise being at odds with our best friend.

I laugh softly, and it is barely a laugh. "I'm sorry I got angry. It was just too early in the morning," I apologize.

"Don't worry about it," she deflects, rubbing her eyes. "I know it's a touchy subject, and I shouldn't have gone that far."

I give her a side-hug. "Good?"

"Yeah." And because she is Christina, she begins, "So now I've gotta complain about little miss Erudite and how I had to put up with her all night on my team."

She babbles about Jessica for the next five minutes. Time ticks on, and I wonder if we are ever going to start initiation today until Tobias finally steps into the training room.

I figured that he was going to feel terrible this morning, and his appearance displays it. His dark hair and clothes are disheveled, like he woke up and came straight here. He is rubbing his temples when he walks towards us, surely trying to assuage the headache he has. When he gets close enough, I see the red surrounding his usually vigilant eyes.

"I'm going to be honest, I feel like shit," he announces to us, as if we couldn't already tell. Nobody dares to whisper to each other like normal because they wouldn't dare do anything that could set him off in this mood. "I was planning on doing knives this morning and letting you go early for lunch, and then coming back later for a training review, but I don't think I could handle that. So here's the deal: if you manage not to piss me off, I'll let you go early and you can have the rest of the day off. Then we'll throw in an extra day tomorrow. Got it?"

At our assenting nods, he sighs and walks over to the tables that have throwing knives placed on top of them. He picks up three of them and walks over to the line of targets.

"Watch carefully," he commands. With his arm out in front of him and his body sidewards, he launches the knife at the target. It hits dead center, despite the major hangover he is suffering through. "It's like shooting. Just breathe through it and position yourself right, and you'll get the hang of it."

Once all of his knives are buried in the middle, he sets us loose. We each pick up a set of knives. I examine the familiar weight and try to become reacquainted with it; Christina grabs them without care, desperately wanting to get this over with; Dez holds them with innate Dauntless interest; Justin looks excited just to throw something, as boys often enjoy things like that.

Those of us with experience have no problem, and we quickly stop worrying about making it stick and instead focus on aiming. The newer initiates struggle, and because Tobias doesn't seem to be in the mood, I take over and help a couple people around me.

His pacing combined with the aura of grumpiness he gives off make me increasingly anxious. Although I have decent aim, I have to readjust myself and steady my breathing when he passes me so I won't hit the floor. How did he throw knives at me last year with the threat of Eric behind him like this? It seems impossible that he didn't hit me. Well, besides the nick of my ear. Hopefully we won't have another incident like that this year.

Two hours later, I have mastered the knife-throwing skill again. Others still seem to have trouble, their knives flying to the left and right, completely missing the target in front of them. If they are lucky, they hit the target next to theirs.

While I'm waiting for the other initiates to collect their knives, I chat with my friends to stay awake. Accidentally, a knife slips through the bundle in my hand and clatters to the floor. It lands a few feet away towards the targets, but nobody has begun throwing again yet, so I quickly step forward and bend down to pick up my knife.

Out of the corner of my eye, a projectile flies toward me, blade over handle, and I gasp as I dive out of the way, but not in time. The knife scrapes my arm, slicing open both my shirt and skin.

Too shocked to be enraged, I scan the line of initiates to my left. My eyes find the culprit immediately.

"What the hell?!" I shout.

Jessica cowers and holds her hands up in defense, pretending to be innocent. "What are you looking at me for?" she snarks. I haven't been paying much attention to her, but I know that she can't be terrible at this. She is in eighth for a reason, so this must have been a purposeful act.

By now we have the attention of everyone in the room, including Tobias.

"You just threw a knife at me!" I exclaim.

Seeing no escape, she bursts out, "What? Oh no! It must have slipped!" She feigns horror, like she didn't just try to seriously injure me.

Fed up with her petty vendetta against me, I push myself off the floor and throw myself at her before anyone can stop me. She shrieks when I approach, but a strong pair of arms roughly wrenches me backward.

"Jesus, enough!" Tobias yells, positioning himself in between us. I notice how his face twists in pain, but I don't feel bad for worsening his migraine. "What the hell is wrong with you two?"

"_Us two_?" I scoff. "You're kidding, right? She purposely threw a knife—"

He levels a glare at me, and says in a low voice, "Did I say I needed your input, Stiff?"

I open my mouth and close it, unwilling to get into anymore trouble. Someone stifles a chuckle—Peter—and my face heats up with embarrassment.

Is this seriously being pinned on me, after she could have killed me? Is Tobias really treating me like every other initiate, when he kissed me last night? Plus he _knows_ that I would never stir something up like this. My mind is so boggled by his behavior that all I can do is obey him.

"You two are constantly acting like children around each other, and I am not going to put up with it anymore. One more incident like this, and I'll throw you both out on your asses," Tobias grumbles threateningly. And then to everybody else, "Get out. We're done for the day."

Jessica files out behind them, a triumphant smirk written on her face. But I stay behind with my arms crossed over my chest, my lips pursed in anger.

"I don't want to deal with you right now." He organizes the haphazardly dumped knives on the table and lines them up with the blades pointed at the targets.

"Oh, _I'm_ sorry to inconvenience _you_. You know, after you just humiliated me in front of all the other initiates, after you—"

"Keep your voice down," he hisses, massaging his temples. "For the record, I didn't see what happened."

"Yeah. Well, Four, you guessed correctly. I made it up. I fell on the floor and cut myself and blamed it on her," I retort, and I gesture to the bleeding slit on my upper arm.

He sighs and the dark bags under his eyes seem to deepen. "I never even suggested that. You know, Tris, you're one of the smartest people I know, and yet you can never figure the simplest things out."

Is it possible to straighten and feel defeated by a compliment at the same time? "Enlighten me."

"If I don't punish you like I would everyone else, then it will seem biased. Our former relationship isn't some big faction secret. And I've already heard them questioning why you ended up in first place without doing gun training."

I groan, "I did do gun training!"

"They don't know that," he corrects me. "Do me a favor and don't get in any more stupid fights. I don't want to have to clean up your messes."

It wasn't meant to be cruel—especially since he implied that he wouldn't render me factionless if it came down to it—but it strikes a nerve in me. "_My_ messes? Oh my God...how can you be saying this to me with a straight face after you kissed me last night?"

Tobias's jaw tightens, and he keeps his eyes focused on the knives he is shuffling, even though they are already perfectly in line. That doesn't give me an answer.

"I'm done with your shifting attitudes. Either you care about me or you don't. I told you I didn't want to play guessing games," I say.

"Well, that's life," he deadpans. "You keep expecting it to be black and white when it is all a confusing, gray mess that nobody can sort out."

I think of the opposite-colored tiles in Candor, which I stared at when he was lecturing me back when I carelessly tried to throw my life away. I think of how when I squinted, I could see a charcoal color with the occasional overbearing of white or black.

That, I realize, is an accurate representation of my feelings for him. Negative and regretful one minute, positive and hopeful another, indifferent and nostalgic the next. It is not just him that can't decide where he wants to go from here because I can't exempt myself from that blame either.

The only thing we can do to make this simpler is be honest, something I have never been skilled at.

After a brief moment of silence, I clear my throat and say, "I, um...I'm not mad that you kissed me. That's not what I meant."

He sighs again and meets my eyes with his conflicted, sleepy ones. It reminds me of the soft side of him that I only got fleeting glances of, like during our time in Amity. His tousled hair adds to his carelessly attractive appearance.

"It's just that I don't know how to interpret that. Or anything you do, really."

"You're the only girl I have ever kissed," he admits, "so I don't exactly go around doing it flippantly."

It is his way of telling me that the kiss meant something to him. So, unlike I previously believed, it wasn't really a spur of the moment decision.

And on a side note, some part of me is elated that he hasn't kissed anyone since last year.

"Well...what are you expecting from me? You do realize that I can't just accept this and continue forward again. We are different people now than we were before the war, Tobias, and after seeing how last time turned out, I don't know if I want to go through this again." I turn away with my arms wrapped around my middle.

But is that true? If the past couple weeks have proven anything, it is that I miss him. At some times, I desperately want what we had—at least in the beginning—again, and I am ready to admit that to myself. Being in Dauntless and reliving moments with him has made it hard to ignore.

He presses a hand to his forehead and replies, "I don't know if I do either."

"Then what are we doing exactly?"

"I don't know!" he snaps, so forcefully that I jump slightly.

With my eyes trained on my feet, I try to think of something to say to bandage what just happened. And while nothing comes to mind, I do note that I do this a lot. We fight, and I feel guilty and search for a way to mend things as much as I can, but we always end up in a worse place than we were before.

We try to protect ourselves from the pain, only to inflict pain upon each other. So I take a different approach this time.

"I miss you," I say quietly, almost in a whisper.

"Well, I didn't kiss you for no reason," he responds, practically mimicking my words, and I turn back to face him.

"I don't want to hurt each other again."

He bows his head, holding himself up with the table. "There's no way to avoid that anymore though, is there?"

He is right. The war shifted and molded us. We can long for the old us as much as we want, but in reality, we will only find destroyed versions of each other in our place. And we are too damaged to not wage smaller wars of our own—

There is a chasm between us, a gaping schism that only seems to widen as hard as we try to close the distance. Someday, our combined efforts to reach each other again will lead us both into the abyss.

We will have to decide if it is worth it.

* * *

TOBIAS POV

The map of Candor seems so much more complex on my computer screen than I remember the actual building being.

Tris was right; if we want to get anywhere in this investigation, then we have to get information on the victims for starters. But while I study the screen in front of me, it becomes increasingly obvious to me just how difficult this task of getting in and out, unscathed and with a copy of Candor files, will be.

Deciding that I will come up with a better plan than the one I currently have later, I shut off the computer and walk over to my bed. I may have slept for most of the day, but it was not enough to recover from last night's paintball game.

I groan to myself at the thought of last night as I crawl under my covers. With a lapse in judgment, I kissed Tris after the game, and I can't come to the conclusion that it was a good or bad idea. I suppose it was foolish, because like she said, we are different people now. It was wrong of me to get my hopes up.

But when she was genuinely laughing, full-on until her cheeks were bright from smiling, and she had those glowing embers in her that I hadn't seen in a long time—or ever, really—I couldn't resist. She was Tris again. Fierce, beautiful, young Tris. Not aged by horrifying experiences and tainted to the point of being belligerent and unlikable.

The kiss felt that way too. For the first time in a year, I had a spark wake me up from the dull life I have been leading. Suddenly there was meaning and something to enjoy in this world, and it was all for my taking.

Yet, as we agreed, the wide gap between us cannot simply be crossed.

I like to think that she has some sort of feelings for me, aside from hatred, of course. She didn't exactly resist the kiss, and she did take care of me when I was too cowardly to face my emotions head-on and got drunk to get it out of my mind. Tris has never been an easy person to read though, so I can't say for certain what she wants.

Rolling over to find a position that is comfortable enough and hoping it will jar my mind and throw away my thoughts, I am perplexed when I hear a knock at the door. It is rapid and soft—not a man's. But what woman could be at my apartment, let alone at night?

I get to my feet and walk over to answer the door, flicking on a light on my way. When I press my ear to the door, I hear sniffling, which makes me unbolt and open the door.

"Tris?" I say, as if I can't believe she is here.

"I-I'm sorry," she chokes out, tears streaming down her face. "I didn't know where else to go..."

I don't know how to react, especially since I have no idea what is happening, so I automatically opt for, "Hey, it's okay. Come in."

After pulling her inside, I poke my head out to make sure nobody witnessed her entering my apartment. Call it paranoid, but even if Hunter isn't watching me, it would not be good if someone found an initiate sneaking into my apartment at this time of night. Nobody is in the hallway, and I made sure long ago to angle the cameras away from my apartment, so I think we are in the clear.

Shutting the door behind me and locking it, I turn my full attention to her. "What's wrong?" I ask, concerned. Tris isn't much of a crier, so it sets off warning signals in my head.

"They let her go, they..." A sob overcomes her, and she can't respond for a few seconds until she can get air. "They let Jeanine go free."

I freeze. I stop breathing altogether. Jeanine Matthews, who orchestrated the attack on Abnegation, who enslaved the minds of two whole factions, who tortured us and eliminated Divergents for the "sake of the city," was found innocent.

"Someone must've helped her, inoculated her against the serum or something..." Probably. She hiccups, her cheeks blotchy. "Tobias, after all she has done, they _freed_ her."

It sets off another round of tears. Still too shocked to comprehend this either, all I can do is murmur, "C'mere," and wrap my arms around her.

Tris sags into my embrace and wets my neck and my shirt with her tears. She allows herself to display weakness around me, which I consider to be a step in the right direction. While it should only be me comforting her, the way she clutches onto me gives me strength I didn't know I needed.

"What did they announce exactly?" I mumble against her ear.

"Candor put her on trial with truth serum," she whimpers. "They said she didn't know that what she was doing was necessarily bad, just that she thought it was helping the city."

"She _murdered_ people, and she didn't know that was bad?" I ask incredulously, putting some space between us but still grasping her arms.

"She denied being behind the Abnegation attack. They couldn't find any evidence of it. And when they let her go, all they did was make her give up her leadership position."

One step ahead every time. There is no possibility that she didn't have insiders, or that she wasn't inoculated against the truth serum, like Tris inferred.

This isn't even about failed justice anymore. The Candor let Jeanine, arguably the most powerful person in the city, go with a slap on the wrist. They can strip her of titles all they want, but her influence over Erudite won't disappear.

"I've never felt safe since the war," she croaks, eyes overflowing again. "But now, with the woman who tortured me out..."

She bites her lip and meets my eyes. They are piercing, with storms brewing inside them. But the lost appearance of them takes me back to when I saw that exact look, when I broke up with her.

_The sting of her betrayal burns through me, shifting into an uncomfortable ache the longer I see her in front of me, in Jeanine's personal laboratory when she should be back in Abnegation._

_She had feigned fear, and I was idiotic enough to believe it was genuine. I trusted her with everything I had, even after she threw herself straight into Jeanine's cold malice._

_The words that fly from my mouth are animalistic, fueled by the fury and the hurt. I don't even know if I mean half of them. But in this moment, I don't care because the one person I put my faith in, the one person I loved, has basically taken everything I offered to her and set it on fire._

_And for what? This could be the most important breakthrough in the history of our city and it wouldn't serve as an excuse for what she has done._

_I stayed with her when she went about any situation carelessly without any regard for her own life. I stayed with her when she lied to me about killing her friend and that that was what was tearing her apart in her sleeping and waking hours. I stayed with her when she broke her only promise to me, left me feeling degraded and used after we made love, and turned herself into Erudite to die._

_But this, lying once again and committing the ultimate act of betrayal by working behind my back with my abusive father...it is too much. It is enough to tell me that she isn't on my side._

_I'm not willing to go through this again. So I do what I maybe should have done a long time ago, like I had sworn to her after Shauna was shot. Because unlike Tris, I keep my promises._

_"We're done," I spit._

_She freezes in place and doesn't even bother blinking. For a few silent seconds in which she doesn't react, I wonder if after everything we had she just doesn't care. I mean, her actions have proved that._

_"I refuse to be with someone who will break promises and lie and keep secrets and outright betray me." My body shakes with held back rage. I don't want to lash out, especially with Uriah and Tori in the room with us. "That's not love. _This _isn't love. It is some kind of sick joke you are playing on me, and I am not going to stick around to see how much longer it will play out."_

_Tris's eyes finally fill to the brim with tears, and she is foolish enough to reach out for me with words—probably a fake apology—ready to come out of her trembling mouth. When her hand brushes my arm, I step back like I was just cut._

_"We're done," I repeat firmly._

_I have never witnessed her crying like this, not even when she had to admit that she murdered Will, not when she grieved for her parents, not when she crawled in my bed looking for a safe haven from her nightmares. Past the layer of tears is pain and need and regret, all shining through her gray eyes that were once blue, when she was my Tris. This shell of a person, this isn't her._

_Her expression begs for me. She is lost in the middle of a sea of hopelessness because I have abandoned her._

_"Tobias," she sobs, her legs collapsing underneath her._

_I keep a straight face and ignore the lump in my throat. I will not comfort her now. I will not retract my words. We are nothing to each other._

_She breathes in air like she is choking. She whimpers like life is pointless, yet it has been to her for a while now._

_And this time, I don't give in to her trap._

_Tori cuts in, "Enough of this. Take her downstairs. She will be tried with the other traitors."_

_And when Uriah hauls her to her feet, I stare at the wall._

_Standing there for minutes, hours, I can't initiate any movement. Her agonized eyes stay ingrained in my mind, and I know that the haunting image will never leave me._

_I broke her._

Tris leans into me, unable to support her own weight like she was then. Realizing that I should say something, I reassure her, "Listen, I won't let Jeanine take you back again. I won't let her torture you ever again."

That fact is certain, and I would have meant it back in the setting I just thought of. I could loathe Tris, but I would never let what happened to her in Erudite happen again.

She winds her arms around my neck and tightens her fingers in my shirt. "Can I stay with you tonight?" she whispers.

And who am I to refuse her? She is obviously stuck in a past world of horrors that she shouldn't have to face alone tonight, surrounded by teenagers who wouldn't understand in a dank dormitory.

"Of course."

So we maneuver ourselves toward my bed. I flip off the light switch on the way, leaving us in almost full darkness. Once we both slide under my quilt, my brain catches up with the fact that this will be awkward, sleeping in the same bed as my ex. The last time we slept in this bed together was the night she left.

After a moment of lying stiff and side-by-side, she rolls over to face me. "I, um...I'll probably have a nightmare sometime in the night, so just wake me up if I bother you," she murmurs shyly.

"I'm not worried about it," I reply. "I get nightmares too, you know."

I smile tiredly at her and wipe a stray tear away from her blotchy cheek. She offers one back to me and closes her eyes.

"I miss you," she whispers, repeating the words she already admitted once today.

"I'm right here," I assure her.

Because I understand. At one point in time, we were each other's stability, and I don't think that has changed after our time apart. She is still the person I would rely on for help, and I am still the person that she would turn to in the night when her tormentor was released. We don't need to be in love for that fact to stay the same.

Tris reaches for the hand that is on her cheek and laces her fingers with mine. Her hand is smooth and nearly swallowed by mine. She lays our intertwined hands down in the space between our faces.

And that is how we drift off.


	14. Chapter 13

TRIS POV

The final rankings for stage one are released in the evening, after our day of training review.

We gather in the dormitory after supper and shove each other to get a clear view in the front of the crowd. But Tobias has not hung up the chalkboard yet, instead obscuring it from us and depriving anxious initiates whose lives are about to be either saved for now or demolished.

"These are the final results for stage one," he declares. "After calculating the Dauntless-born scores, it has been decided that eight of you need to be cut, as previously estimated. These eight will be marked below the line, and you will leave us tomorrow morning when the rest of us go to the factionless sector to patrol."

There is a mutual intake of breath as everyone in the room anticipates his or her rank. Tobias hangs the chalkboard up on the wall and steps back so we can see the results.

As expected, I have not moved. Neither has Peter, and Christina only dropped by two spots—she lost a fight against a boy whose name I can't recall. And then I see that Dez moved up to number eighteen, much farther from the bottom than she was just last week.

My friends and I celebrate and congratulate each other. Throughout the room there is a chorus of cheers but also cries, and although I do have sympathy for those who have been cut, they should realize that being factionless isn't that bad. I used to consider it worse than death to not have a place in society, but the factionless have banded together since my first initiation, and everybody has seen how much they resemble their own faction with their organization.

Tobias leaves the room between the mixed reactions, and that is when Jessica snakes through the group of initiates in my direction with fury evident on her face. When she gets to me, she pounces, her arms outstretched so she can reach for my throat. I catch her wrists just in time, but I still bump into the wall behind me.

"This is all your fault!" she yells, clawing at my arms to make me let go. Thankfully, Peter steps forward to hold her back. "My best friend is getting kicked out so your little Amity minion can stay! How convenient that she moved up too!"

"What are you _talking_ about?" I ask incredulously. Many pairs of eyes are glued to us, as a disruption like this is hard to ignore, especially since Dauntless enjoy their share of drama and fights.

"Don't play stupid! We all know that you're using your boyfriend to raise your rank, as well as your friends' apparently!"

My face burns as whispers spread around us. "He's not my _boyfriend_, and if anything he dislikes me." The last part might be a stretch, but oh well. "Your accusation is only making you look ridiculous."

"No, what's ridiculous is the fact that you're in first place, even without completing gun training because you're too much of a coward to fire one!" she exclaims, and the initiates around us seem to agree with her.

So I decide to put an end to the rumors. "I did complete gun training after hours on my own time," I clarify calmly. "And I'm in first because I deserve it."

Jessica growls and lurches forward again despite being restrained by Peter. Finished with my retorts and needing some air, I turn and walk out of the dormitory, trying to ignore the stares boring into me.

I sigh once I am alone in the hallway. I don't know where I meant to go, so I wander slowly and aimlessly down random paths. At one point I contemplate hunting down Tobias and asking if I could stay with him again tonight, but I figure that it wouldn't be appropriate.

My decision to approach him last night was fueled by desperation and fear and therefore not pensive; however, I don't regret it because of how refreshed I felt this morning when I woke up from a deep sleep in an actual bed. It was an added bonus that I didn't suffer from nightmares, likely having something to do with the fact that I woke up wrapped tightly in his arms. Obviously it was an accident caused by our bodies being familiar with the position and each other, but I wasn't complaining.

It would have been awkward to face him though, so I didn't attempt to slide out of his grip since he was bound to wake up if I did—he is aware of his surroundings in his sleep unless it is in the first hour or so of rest, I have noticed. I waited until he woke up and carefully untangled himself from me to go take a shower. As soon as the water turned on, I slipped on my shoes and stealthily exited the apartment.

I was surprised that I was able to look him in the eye all day after that. Maybe it is a sign that we are closer than I thought. After all, he was the first person I could think of last night, when I needed someone.

My pondering is rudely interrupted when somebody bumps into my shoulder as I turn a corner. I turn to see who it was and stop short when it ends up being none other than Tori.

"Tris," she says curtly.

"Tori."

Then, with a dry smile, she taunts, "I told you that you should have let me kill her when I had the chance."

My stomach tightens uncomfortably, because she is right. If I had allowed her to kill Jeanine instead of trying to salvage information off her computer, then she wouldn't be free to roam as she pleases now.

"Yeah, I know," I scoff. "Let's add that to the list of things I regret."

Shaking my head as I walk away, I can't believe that someone who was once a trusted friend could warp into a cruel person, who rubs salt into wounds just to make a point. I never wanted that kind of relationship with Tori, and even though my Divergence isn't much of a secret anymore after I broadcasted it at Candor, it is still dangerous that she holds that information.

Our run-in has me in a foul mood for the next hour, and I find a random hallway where I can be alone to sulk. I don't want to go back to the dormitory to face anyone after Jessica's fit and false remarks, and I don't have anywhere else to go, so I curl up against a wall and close my eyes in a pathetic attempt to rest.

That is, until Uriah comes ambling down the hall.

"Tris!" he hollers. "I've been looking for you."

Flicking open my eyes, I am met with a handsome face and a white flash of teeth in the dim, blue lighting. "Unfortunately, you found me," I say plainly.

He slumps to the ground next to me with a crease between his eyebrows. "Why are you in such a bad mood? Is it because of that fight that happened in the transfers' dormitory?"

I sigh. I don't want to dampen his happy attitude with my problems, so I try to brush it off. "Nothing. Just a little stressed and guilt-ridden tonight." Thanks, Tori.

Uriah smiles sadly at me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "I still think about the war a lot too," he admits.

"Except you have nothing to be ashamed of," I point out.

I have everything to be ashamed of; everything I touched was handled wrong. I killed Will. I let my mother get shot, and then I dragged my father with me to Dauntless to do the same. I continuously put my life out on a limb and refused to handle a gun. I let Marlene throw herself off a roof. I abandoned the most important person in my life so I could throw mine away. And then, when he forgave me, I cut his heart out by lying per usual and working behind his back with his monstrous father.

Every single day I torture myself over these actions. Over time the load has grown lighter, but once in a while it will come back to hit me full force, like a train. These mistakes will live with me until the day I die.

"Tris..." Uriah pulls me closer and leans his head against mine. "I do. We all do; we all regret the things we did last year. And you're not going to get anywhere by beating yourself up."

I don't respond.

"You know, Marlene used to constantly tell people to forgive each other—and it happened often in a place like Dauntless where there's a lot of conflict." I sneak a glance over at him because I know Marlene is a tough topic for him, but he seems okay apart from the melancholy in his eyes, so I don't stop him from talking. "But she just always said it, and I think there's another meaning to it; I think that that's what you need to do: forgive yourself," he tells me.

He talks about her to me like I didn't have a choice to save her and failed to. I don't trust my voice to not crack on the way out, so I wrap my arms around his neck instead.

Eventually I let go of him. He stands and offers a hand to me, and when I take it, he is lively again.

"Come on," he urges. "I came to find you because we're going zip lining, and we should hurry so the other initiates don't leave without us."

And when he drags me along, I can't help but be grateful to have Uriah as my friend.

* * *

We burst into the Dauntless compound, our hair windswept and our clothes disheveled, but our faces are flushed and there is a bounce in everyone's step.

I forgot how enjoyable life can be, and zip lining for the second time has reminded me of it. The way my stomach drops and the incredible view of the city as I fly down toward the pavement are possibly the only things that can still make me cry out with joy. Too hardened by my experiences, I have found that a few things truly bring me elation, and zip lining is one of them.

I am still bubbling with energy when I enter the Pit with my friends. Christina, Uriah, and Dez all laugh and walk ahead of Justin and I. Justin swings a friendly arm around my shoulder as we saunter forward.

"That was amazing," he comments, and I snicker when I notice how messy his blonde hair is.

"It was," I agree. "I've only been once before tonight, and I should definitely make it a goal to go as much as possible, now that I have the chance." War can take away much of a person's time and possibilities.

"I'll take you again one day," he offers.

The way he says it triggers something in my mind that disappears after a moment.

Spotting the tattoo parlor, I change the subject. "Have you gotten a tattoo yet?" I ask.

We stop walking, his arm dropping to his side. "Not yet. I haven't decided what to get. Do you—" He pauses. "Oh, right. You have birds," he remembers.

I pull down the collar of my jacket slightly to reveal the ravens flying across my collarbone. "Yes."

Justin reaches out and lightly grazes them with his fingertips, and I stand frozen, astounded by his forwardness.

He grins widely and removes his hand. "I like them."

Until tonight, Justin has given me no reason to believe that he has any feelings toward me, but clearly that is not the case. This is like Al all over again, and I don't want to hurt his feelings after how that turned out last time. The last thing I need is another enemy.

So I smile politely and casually look away, desperately searching for our other friends because there is safety in numbers. They are easy to locate, and I point in their direction.

"We should go see what they're up to," I suggest, not waiting for him to say no. Then I make my way over to them with my tongue pressed to my cheek.

Hopefully he will take the hint. I don't want a boyfriend. It didn't work out well the first time, and if I were to have a boyfriend, there is only one person who comes to mind.

* * *

Patrolling the factionless sector is without a doubt the last job that will be on my preference list. Fortunately, if I finish initiation in first place, I won't have to worry about being stuck here for the rest of my life.

All around me are crumbling buildings, filthy living conditions, and the factionless going about their everyday business. Most of them sneer at me and the other initiates guarding the area, but no brawls break out. I almost wish something would happen to take up some time out of this boring day.

My back aches from standing for so long, and I have to hold my rifle because leaving it dangling by the strap puts too much pressure on my shoulder to bear. The sun beats down on me, causing sweat to line my forehead.

Tobias strolls over to me after a while, pretending to check in when we both know that there are much more important matters to discuss. He seems to be as annoyed as I am.

"Enjoying your day off?" he deadpans, staring at a group of factionless cooking lunch around a fire.

"Not particularly," I reply. In fact, I would rather go through a simulation than stand out here all day. But for the rest of stage two, we will spend half of the day keeping the factionless in check and the other half waiting our turn to face one of our fears.

He gets straight to the point. "I don't know if you heard, but there have been three more suicides in the last few days. So we're going to Candor tomorrow night. I have a loose and risky plan, but it's all I have. You can make suggestions if you want. For now though, work on finding a white shirt somewhere."

Figuring that Christina will have the one she wore on her way to Dauntless, I say, "Okay."

Tobias stays uncharacteristically silent for a while, so long that eventually I turn to him and joke, "So what, we can't talk to each other now? Didn't we just sleep in the same bed a couple days ago?"

He doesn't find it funny. I watch him press his lips together and examine his gun.

"What's your problem? Are you mad at me or something?"

"Not at all, Tris." Obviously he is.

I sigh and look away from him. "You're acting ridiculous. Just tell me what's wrong," I demand.

He chuckles quietly to himself. "_I'm_ ridiculous," he mumbles. And then pointedly to me, "Well, at least I don't go around playing people."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He huffs, frustrated, and turns to me with a scowl on his face. "You're going to pretend that you and that blonde Candor transfer are simply friends?"

"Actually, I don't need to pretend. We _are_ just friends." Where did he get the notion that we are otherwise? Justin didn't say something, did he?

"I saw you last night with him. He was getting a little too friendly when he touched your chest, and you were happy to oblige and let him. I was surprised you didn't let him kiss you."

My face flushes red, and I correct him, "You act like he groped my chest. He touched my tattoos on my _collarbone_." Yet I do concur that he stepped over a line. Narrowing my eyes with my mouth twitching at the corners, I point out what is obvious. "You're jealous," I infer.

"No, I'm not," he vehemently denies, too quickly. "I just think that that's wrong on your part to lead him on, unless you've sunken low enough to like him."

I roll my eyes. "He's my _friend_." I feel a sudden flash of anger coming on. "Besides, you're a hypocrite. You let Jessica drool over you all the time." And I am a hypocrite for feeling jealous and possessive about that too.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah, like you are completely oblivious to her lusting over you from across the training room." Or her not-so-discreet comments on his muscles, or on how his skill with weapons likely mimics his level of skill in the bedroom.

I don't want to fight with him any longer, but when I note that there are fresh scabs on his knuckles, I am forced to continue with my rant. "You know, I don't know why I am always defending myself when a lot of times I don't approve of your behavior either," I snap.

"Funny, I don't remember asking for your approval," he answers.

We both remain quiet for a moment, listening to the sounds of factionless bustling around. Finally, after I have gathered my thoughts and determined where I am going with this, I continue on, "I don't want to help you with this investigation if I can't trust you. And I can't trust someone I feel like I don't know."

Tobias is partially the same as he used to be, but there is a darker side of him that has come to light. Sometimes I can't predict him, and that frightens me because it reminds me of when our relationship was fragile and he was unstable, when we were nearing the end.

"I don't understand," he says slowly, "what more you need to know about me."

The question cannot wait in my mind any longer. "Why do you fight, Tobias?" I blurt out.

He closes his eyes briefly, his eyelashes brushing his cheekbones, and loosens his grip on his rifle. It seems to be a difficult inquiry for him to answer, but soon enough he tells me, "I fight because I can't handle not having any conflict or action." Strange, how conflict is usually a negative thing, yet he desires it. He shakes his head dismissively. "It's just a habit I fell into when we returned back to our factions after the war. I'll explain it to you better someday."

I accept his answer, but I stare down at my feet and add softly, "I don't like it when you fight."

"I haven't lost once," he assures me. "I rarely get hurt."

"I still don't like it." That risk is always there, so I prefer that he avoids fighting altogether.

Tobias kicks at a stray pebble on the ground effortlessly to keep himself busy as he speaks. "If it makes you that uncomfortable, I'll stop."

While the answer satisfies me, I am surprised that he would change something so ingrained into his lifestyle now for me. We aren't together, so there is no reason why he should do anything for me really, let alone stop fighting for the sake of my concern for his wellbeing.

"You would do that for me?" I mutter.

Lifting a shoulder slightly, he gives me a look that I can't quite place, but it is accompanied by a subtle grin.

"Anything else you want to interrogate me about?" he asks. "I'll have to make another round in a moment so this long conversation doesn't seem suspicious."

Nothing comes to mind, so I let him off the hook for now. "No. You'll have to tell me the plan to break into Candor though," I say.

His deep-set eyes become stern at the reminder of our mission. "Come to my apartment tonight," he tells me, "and I'll explain it with detail."

My eyes follow his lithe figure as he approaches Uriah to make friendly conversation with him. Biting my lip, I try to ignore the tingling feeling in my fingertips, brought on by his offer to spend more time with him in his apartment tonight.

I am acting ridiculous, and I mentally scold myself for it. I see him for most of the day each day, so this should not be an exciting prospect.

But we will be alone...

If we keep continuing down this path, maybe our relationship won't be so hostile or standoffish as it still so often is. Maybe we will evolve into something greater than before. I can only wish that we do because I can no longer settle with casting my emotions aside, or pretending like I haven't been through this process before as we shrink the gap between us day by day.

My brother warned me not to get involved with Tobias the night before our second choosing.

Sorry, Caleb, but this is taking a course that I am powerless to cease.

* * *

**Fair warning that I will be out of town this week and I may not update on time if at all. Sorry, and thanks for your support!**


	15. Chapter 14

TRIS POV

The fear simulations pass slowly, with Tobias calling the oblivious initiates in one at a time. After ten minutes or so, they each exit with petrified expressions and unstable legs, trying to grasp the fact that what they just witnessed was not, in fact, reality.

I sit next to Christina and Dez in the sterile hallway outside the door where we will meet our greatest fears head-on. We pass the time by quietly chattering about anything that could possibly be of interest to take our minds off of the impending doom that awaits us.

"I am not excited for this," Dez admits eventually. At least she has had time to mentally prepare for the simulations, whereas the other new initiates—and the group I was in last year—weren't given the luxury.

"This isn't even the worst part," Christina remarks. "Just wait until you get the nightmares."

Fortunately enough, I haven't had nightmares for the past few days. Tobias helped to fight them off the first night, and then I went to bed without negativity after zip lining the next night. After that, I was finally awarded an actual bed in the dormitory since I successfully passed the first stage of training while others didn't—well, I'll be honest, it doesn't quite fit the requirements of a bed, seeing as this is Dauntless.

But now, with three days of total rest, I am worried that I won't be as equipped to counter my nightmares as I usually am; I hardly can in the first place, but controlling my screaming is better than letting it loose.

Just then, a nauseous Bryce leaves the room, passing us in a hurry. Christina follows him with her eyes pityingly, and Tobias steps out to call, "Dez."

Dez casts a desperate glance at us from over her shoulder and disappears into the back room with Tobias.

"If I didn't have to do my own sim, I would go comfort him or something. That would be a good way to start conversation with him," says Christina, referring to her crush, Bryce.

"Well, you should talk to him anyways," I suggest. "If you really like him, don't wait for an opportunity. Use that Candor instinct and go up and tell him you like him."

She mocks me. "Ha-ha. Making fun of my former faction again, are we?"

"I'm serious!" I exclaim quietly, so the others in the room won't hear us over their own conversations. "You've just been talking about him for over a week. I'm just saying you should go for it."

Christina hums in acknowledgement, but I can tell her mind is elsewhere. After a moment, she asks, "Any boy drama going on with you?"

Remembering what happened a couple days ago, I scoff. "Unfortunately."

"What? You don't like him or something?" She stops. "Wait, who are we talking about?"

I lean over and whisper, "Justin seemed like he was flirting with me the other night."

Being the Candor she is, her eyes flit over to Justin, who sits a few feet across from us with Uriah.

"Don't make it obvious!" I hiss. Then I give both of the boys a friendly smile when we catch their eyes.

"Okay, I don't understand. Is there something wrong with him liking you though?"

"Yes, there's something wrong with it. He's my friend, and I don't like him that way."

She picks at her cuticles, acting nonchalant. "Come on, Tris. He's good-looking. He's funny. He's excelling at initiation—"

"And I still don't like him."

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize why I couldn't ever fall for a guy like Justin, or any other guy. I suppress the thought immediately, because it fills me with the uneasy feeling that I have been wrong all along. And maybe I have been, but I am too stubborn to admit it. I would like to think that I could score a relationship with someone else—someone besides _him_—despite my low self-esteem, so I'll let myself believe it for a little while longer.

Time flies as the simulations bleed together. Eventually I am one of few initiates left, and Tobias escorts Uriah out before calling for me.

"Come on, Tris."

Standing on my tightened legs that desperately need to be stretched out from sitting for so long, I walk over to the simulation room. Tobias holds the door open for me as I enter and then closes it behind us.

The room is the same as I remember: the lights brighter than any other place in the compound, the reclined chair in the center of the room, a table with a computer next to it. This is the place where I experience hell for three minutes at a time and proceed to move on like nothing happened.

"Did you do what I asked?" he says vaguely when I sit.

I stare at his strong back as he shuffles around, preparing the serum. "Yes," I reply. It is obvious that he is referring to his order to find a white shirt, and Christina was happy to let me take hers this morning, not without a string of unanswered questions, of course. "This plan is really stupid, by the way."

The strategy to break into Candor that he proposed last night is asinine. In fact, it is to the point of suicidal. We just have to hope that we get lucky tonight.

"Any other ideas?" He turns around and flicks the syringe full of the orange liquid that will torment my brain. "The longer we wait, the more people die. We don't exactly have much time to come up with anything else."

"No. But if we get caught—"

Not even entertaining the idea, he interrupts me. "We won't get caught," he corrects. "But if we did, then I would make sure that you got out at least. So don't worry about it."

His certainty is enough to reassure me for now; it alleviates the churning in my abdomen. Tobias brushes a stray lock of hair away from my neck, and I tilt my head to allow him access, goosebumps rising on my arms when his breath washes over my skin.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Let's get this over with," I say.

He presses the thick needle into my neck, and I wince. The ache is quick and sharp as he injects the serum into me and removes the needle.

My surroundings start blurring. I blink several times in an attempt to resist it and stay awake.

"I would tell you to be brave," says Tobias, "but I don't think that's necessary. Just try not to outsmart the sim, okay?"

I try to remember that, since it really is still unwise to show signs of being Divergent. Then I succumb to the simulation, preparing to be swarmed by the crows.

* * *

TOBIAS POV

Tris meets me at the train tracks at midnight, just as I instructed. This back alley is unlit, so what she is wearing should be negligible, but that doesn't stop me from gawking at her when I see her clothed in a white, buttoned shirt.

I suppose it is because I have only ever seen her in black, and briefly in gray and bright Amity colors. Don't get me wrong, I like the way she looks in any outfit. But the way the sleeves are rolled up on her arms and how the front is casually and partially tucked into the front of her tight pants does something to me. It is a different side of her, a crisp side, that I am not accustomed to.

And I don't know where the thought comes from—maybe the Divergent part of me—but I entertain the idea of seeing her in other colors besides black, in a world without factions. I can't explain why it is exciting.

"What?" she asks, glancing down at herself. "It doesn't look ridiculous, does it?"

I clear my throat. "No, not at all."

She shrugs the exchange off. "Can we run through the plan again?"

"Yeah," I say. "Let's just get on the train first."

When the words leave my mouth, the train hurtles around the corner in the distance, traveling toward us at a swift pace. We run alongside it once it reaches us, and I haul myself in skillfully before helping her inside.

"Thanks," she breathes, and I yearn to keep my hand in hers, though I decide that now is not the time.

Instead I reiterate the plan. "So we're both going to walk in one of the back doors, to be less obvious. I know exactly where we're going, and we will take the stairs to get there. Hopefully we won't run into any trouble, but if we do, then you'll pretend to be a Candor representative showing me, a Dauntless representative, around," I explain.

"They'll recognize our faces if they see us on the cameras," she points out.

"I'll be wearing a mask unless we run into someone. And you..." I reach out for her and cautiously remove the band from her ponytail, making sure her hair doesn't get caught. "You'll just keep your face down and hidden behind your hair, and you should be fine."

"Okay," she relents. "Then what?"

I turn my head to watch the city pass out the window. "The records room won't be unguarded, so I'll disable him and take his keys. They are there in case Jack Kang or any other leaders need to get into the room after hours for any reason. It won't trigger an alarm system right away because the type of system that is armed will not sound for five minutes, since that is a decent amount of time for it to be reported that a leader entered the room, so it can be disabled."

Tris presses a hand to her forehead. "Stop for a second. How do you know all this?" she questions skeptically.

I sigh at being interrupted again. "We get this information in the control room because we're in charge of security as Dauntless," I clarify.

She narrows her eyes. "I can't imagine that information that in-depth would be left in the hands of some reckless Dauntless that happen to work in the control room."

Sometimes her perceptiveness can be too much. "Okay, fine, I may have tapped into their system."

"Is that going to get traced back to you?"

"No," I grunt. "It's not. And besides, I also found out the password to the computer in that office by hacking into their control room feed. So as soon as I enter the passcode, I can plug in the hard drive and download all the files so that my computer will mirror theirs. Then we will clear out of there as fast as we can before the alarm goes off. If we get lucky, we won't encounter any guards on the way out."

"And if we do?"

I reach back and pull my gun out from the waistband of my pants, displaying it to her. She is still not completely comfortable with guns since Will, even though I got her to shoot during training, and I see her flinch almost unnoticeably. I return the pistol back to its place, the cool metal pressing against my lower back.

"Just in case," I assure her.

We stand in silence for the remaining minutes it takes to arrive at the Merciless Mart. The impending danger is too overbearing for us to discuss rather trivial topics at the moment.

"We're here," I eventually declare as the massive building slides into view. "Ready?"

She watches me put on a black mask that only has a long hole for my eyes, biting her lip. "Yes," she confirms, energy evident in her silver eyes.

We jump off onto the platform together, sticking the landing. Then we climb down the supports without effort. I make sure to go first so that I can assist her in stepping down afterwards, since she is shorter and likely to be more impacted if she were to fall from the height than I would be.

Once on solid ground, I lead her around to the back side of the main section of the Candor compound. There are no lights outside of the building, so we walk in the shadows without the worry of being spotted by anyone who might happen to be out at this time of night.

The back entrance is where I expected it to be, ingrained in my mind thanks to the map I took the time to memorize. There is a short, tiled hallway that looks as clean as the rest of the building, and it is lined by doors that likely hide janitors' closets. But at the end of the hallway there is an opening that leads to the main lobby, and just before it lies the doorway of the staircase.

Tris and I keep our footsteps light until we make it to the stairs. Then we begin climbing, flight after flight until we no longer care about the noise level. It doesn't matter anyway because we don't run into anyone. I lose track of how many stairs we step up, but by the end, when we arrive at the 35th floor, we are both panting.

"Please don't tell me we have to go back down on our way out," she whispers, her breathing labored.

"I was planning on taking the elevator," I huff back. This mask is extremely stuffy. "We honestly should have, but this way was more careful."

Once we catch our breath, I push the door open.

The wall on our right is made of glass, and it stretches far down the hallway before hitting a corner and continuing to the right. At that corner leans a Candor guard dressed in black and white, with a gun tucked into the holster at his side.

With as much stealth as possible, I inch forward one step at a time, trying to keep my steps silent on the tiled floor. It seems that every move I make is thunderous, but the guard stays in his exact spot. His lack of vigilance probably has something to do with the way his head bobs when I get close to him.

When I am only a few feet away, I abandon all attempts at being noiseless.

"Hey," I say to get his attention. The guard stands straight and turns to look at me from around the glass corner, his eyes widening when he briefly catches the sight of a gun coming down at him. I slam the butt of the gun into his temple and watch him crumple to the ground, unconscious.

Turning to make sure that Tris stands behind me, I bend down and rifle through the guard's pockets for his keys. Then I try each one in the door until I find the exact one that fits.

"We have to hurry," I remind Tris before I turn the door handle. "We only have five minutes."

She nods, her expression determined. And we step into the records room of Candor, where everything between birth certificates and indictments are stored in both paper and electronic form. There are books and binders filling every shelf, but we did not come for those, so I pay them no mind.

Sliding down onto my knees into the space behind the desk, I quickly type in the numbered code that I watched Jack Kang type in only a few days ago. The computer opens up for me, and I immediately stick the hard drive into the side and let it collect all the data.

"So we will seriously have all the files?" Tris whispers, amazement in her voice.

"Yes. Not only that, but with the program I put on it, we will have access to the files that are updated, and even have access to edit them, although we likely won't need that," I explain.

We watch the download process, as hundreds of thousands of records are stored on the chip, indicated by the bar that slides slowly but surely across the screen. I check the time again and notice that it has been four minutes since we entered the room.

"How much longer?" Tris anxiously rushes out, peeking over the desk to see if anyone is in the hallway.

"Not much," I say. At least, I hope so. "I didn't expect it to take this long."

Fortunately for us, it finishes up within the next minute. I extract the hard drive with an accomplished, "Done," just as the alarm goes off.

"Shit, go, go, go," I urge, dragging her behind me as we spring up from the floor and rush toward the stairs again. I fly down a couple flights with Tris right behind me, my heart pounding in my ears. I am surprised she can keep up at this rate.

"We won't make it if we try to go down the stairs the whole way!" she reminds me.

Taking that into account, I stop at the next landing and sprint for the elevator bank. We both frantically tap the _down_ buttons on each wall, praying that an elevator will make it here fast enough.

But none of them do.

So we stand on the Candor symbol built into the floor, the scales, where we are spotted and about to be cornered by several guards on their way up to stop us from robbing them of information.

"Time for Plan B," I state, reaching for my gun.

Tris panics, "What's Plan B?!" I never explained it to her because I had hoped it wouldn't come down to this, but I suppose there is no choice now.

I restrain her in a headlock, securing her against my chest and pressing my gun to the side of her head. Shocked by my sudden actions, she gasps and clutches onto my bicep with one hand and my forearm with the other.

In this position, she is an innocent, nondescript Candor woman, whose hair disguises her face. And I am the culprit who is using her as a hostage so that I can escape.

"Hey!" I shout when the guards approach with their weapons aimed and ready. "Come any closer and I'll shoot!"

Obviously finding the choice of antagonizing me fatal for the girl in my arms, they stay back, rocking on their feet. They strain to do something, but their only option is to stand down unless they want a death tonight—though they don't know that I would never pull the trigger.

The elevator to my left dings before the doors slide open. I keep the pistol aimed at Tris's temple as she whimpers to keep up the act. We back up into the elevator, and I press the button that will take us to the third floor, effectively shutting the doors and then putting floors between us and them.

Tris extracts herself from my arm. "You're _insane_," she mutters, a smile creeping up on her face. It goes without saying that she is impressed by my quick thinking.

I pant as we watch the numbers above the elevator drop one at a time. "I didn't scare you, did I?" I check. She seems unscathed and unaffected, but it doesn't hurt to be sure.

"I'm fine," she says firmly. She wipes away the sweat that has gathered on her forehead. "I trust you."

Without any time to soak the words in, the doors open, signaling our arrival. The third floor is empty, but we keep quiet as we jog over to the stairwell.

"I think we lost them. They have no idea what floor we're on, and although they're probably watching the bottom floor, I don't think they'll bother to check the stairs," I breathe out.

Once we hit the first floor, I check my watch. There should be a train here any minute; in fact, it could be here right this second. I tell Tris this, and we both sprint down the janitor hall and outside with everything we have left in us.

"There!" Tris cries, locating the train in the gloomy night and aiming at it with her finger.

"Hurry, take the stairs at the next platform!" I clasp my hand onto hers and run, not bothering to make sure that she can keep up with me.

She stumbles a few times because of my speed but doesn't mention it. Before we make it to the stairs, several bullets whip past us. I hold my breath, and thankfully, all of them miss and hit the concrete.

The train is now right above us. We fly up the steps at an alarming pace and chase the train down the tracks, now that we are trailing behind. For a moment I don't believe that we will make it, but another bullet ricochets off of the metal tracks and gives us the boost we need. I board the train, the action now a feat because I am breathless from exertion. I can't rest yet though because Tris is still running.

She has fallen behind even more, and her arms pump harder while her legs struggle to catch up. An exasperated groan escapes her, like she is fatigued. I don't think she will make it.

"Tris!" I yell over the cry of the wind. I hold out my hand to her, though it is still a far distance from her. "Come on!" I encourage her, because it is the only thing I can think of to say with my brain low on oxygen.

"I—" She strains and presses a hand to her chest. "I _can't_," she says, but I read the words on her lips rather than hear them.

If she doesn't make it on, then I will be forced to jump off and join her, and we will be caught as soon as the guards have that chance to gain on us. So I try a different approach, morphing into the instructor that might get through to her.

"This is pathetic," I spit. Her eyes meet mine, furious at my method of pushing her. "Get on the damn train, Stiff! Have you really come this far to not be able to _jump_ on a _train_?"

Her whole body heaves and works double-time until her fingertips graze mine. With one more lurch, I am able to grasp her wrist and pull as hard as I can, sending us flying back into the train with her on top of me.

For what seems like a long while, we lie collapsed on the floor of the train car, supplying our needy lungs with oxygen. Out of nowhere, Tris starts shaking, and I prop myself up on my elbows frantically, expecting to see her having a seizure or something.

She rolls onto her back, the lower half of her body still slung over mine, and laughs out loud.

After a moment of gawking, I join her. _This_ is what I meant by needing the fast-paced action in life; this is the adrenaline I don't get anymore. War may have been many things, but it gave me the motion that I constantly desire today. I like the unpredictability. I like the threat of peril. I am a young adult, and if I don't experience that energy, then I will feel half dead.

And right now, I am alive.

* * *

"That was fun," I say as we walk down a sloped path near the Pire. I decided that it would be much safer to take the route through a labyrinth of hallways as opposed to sauntering straight through the Pit for all of Dauntless to see. Besides, I still have Hunter hanging over my head.

"Sure," Tris agrees half-heartedly. "Let's just not do it again, okay?" We have finally worked our way up to friendly again, and our banter and gestures come easier now.

My cheeks have been hurting from laughing and smiling so much ever since we boarded the train on the way back, but it doesn't stop me from grinning again. I lead her down another passage with my arm draped over her shoulder, and I eye the Abnegation tattoo below my palm—she had ditched the white shirt on our way here by tossing it into the wind, claiming that Christina didn't care what she did with it. Now she is back in a black Dauntless tank top.

"So what now?" she asks.

"Nothing, yet. I'm going to search the names in the database tomorrow and check the death certificates and see if these people have any connections to each other—"

"Wait, stop," she hisses, pressing a hand to my abdomen. I let go of her when I hear voices approaching. They will turn the corner up ahead very soon, and the other exit from this hall is a ways back.

"Oh, shit," I panic, glancing around frantically for a way out of this situation. But my brain has been overworked tonight with plans and improvisations. "We can't be seen like this, us together, let alone at this time of night and while Candor is searching for us—"

Tris yanks me toward her, where she is pressed against the stone wall. "Catch me," she demands.

"_What_?"

Without another warning, she jumps, and I react quickly by catching her by her thighs. Before I can ask her what the hell she is thinking, she kisses me.

Any kind of escape flies right out of my mind as her lips move against mine. Every part of me is consumed and yearning for the one word that I can think of right this second: _Tris_.

The kiss is heated, and even when we were together, I don't remember it being this passionate. Her mouth claims mine and her hands keep my face completely in her control and _oh_ I haven't had this in about a year and I am desperate. Keeping her here is my main priority—I have been dreaming about this, with her, for too long—so I try to do my job right by reciprocating the intensity.

The voices grow closer, but they are a jumbled mess to me with my heart throbbing in my ears. By the tone alone, though, I can tell that one of the men is Hunter.

And then, the world around me is a haze of nonsense again once her tongue brushes mine. A soft moan rises from my throat, and I am sort of embarrassed but keep my mouth locked on Tris's.

"Get a room," Hunter sneers as they pass. He doesn't give us a second glance because we are nobodies; we are an unimportant Dauntless couple, making out in a _usually_ abandoned hallway. Plus, it's not like he can see our faces in the dim light when they're this close together, anyway.

We don't stop. Tris slides her hand into my hair while I readjust my grip on her legs. This is natural between us, and we let ourselves take all of our pent-up frustration and secret longing out on each other. It is the excuse we needed to finally act.

Soon enough, the two men are probably out of sight, so I slow it down. Moving my lips down to her neck, I savor the sigh that she can't help.

"Tobias," she whispers, as a finality. I miss the sound of her saying my name; nobody else calls me that anymore.

I bring my face back up and lean my forehead against hers. We share the same charged air until I cautiously drop her back onto her feet.

I watch as she smooths down her clothes, and the only thing that comes to mind to say is, "You're brilliant, you know that?"

It is such a lame thing to say after what we just did, but she just smiles and shrugs and starts continuing down the hall, her golden hair swishing back and forth across her back. When she notices that I'm not following her, she turns back. "What are you gawking at? It was just a kiss, don't be a baby," she teases.

She can try to brush this off like it was nothing to her, but I know she is unsteady like I am.

"I-I need a minute," I breathe, pressing a hand to the wall for some extra support.

"What's your problem? You can't walk?"

It is meant to be a joke, but I really am in a predicament, a humiliating one at that. I give her a hinting look, and she finally catches on and blushes.

"Oh," she says sheepishly. "Um, sorry."

"It's fine," I assure her awkwardly. It is strange that we still can't talk openly about things like this, when we have been together intimately, and when we have also been through much more uncomfortable circumstances, though those are not the same. I suppose Abnegation modesty will always be a part of us.

Still, I don't want that with her. I want to be open and honest without feeling ashamed; it is what I have wanted with her all along.

If we can find our way back to each other, then maybe we can learn from our mistakes. Or maybe I'm just being too optimistic.

"Come on," I say. "I'll walk you back to the dormitory."


	16. Chapter 15

**Warning: This chapter contains self-harm and discussion of suicide.**

TRIS POV

Something pokes me in the side.

"Tris?"

I lift my head off the table and blink at the lights of the dining hall. I must have fallen asleep, or gotten close. Uriah continues to prod me in the side, and I slap his hand away.

"Looks like _someone_ didn't sleep enough last night," Christina says.

_Yes, I was busy breaking into your birth faction_. I chalk it up to, "Nightmares." It is the second stage of initiation, after all.

Nobody bothers me after that. The rest of our breakfast time is spent with the boys cracking jokes and Christina describing her plan of how she is going to get all dressed up and talk to Bryce tonight. Dez is uncharacteristically silent, but I don't mention it to her, too exhausted to even form comprehensive thoughts.

"Come on, we should get going," Uriah suggests. "Don't want Four to take his wrath out on us when we're late for patrolling."

So we all stand up, though the clock on the wall tells me that we still have some time before we have to be armed and at the tracks. As we file out the cafeteria doors, Justin catches my arm and leads me back to him as the group goes on ahead. Oh God, I don't want to deal with him right now.

"Hey," he says with concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," I sigh. "I'm just tired."

He nods and wraps an arm around my shoulders, similar to how Tobias did last night, but the weight is lighter. "You're still in first, right?" he asks, making small talk. I suppose this isn't so bad. This is innocent and friendly, aside from the arm around me. I really only let my closest friends do that, like Uriah.

"Yes. Are you still in third?"

He shakes his head. "I doubt it. I mean, last time I checked I was, but that was in the first stage. I'm not so sure that I am good at the simulations."

"I doubt that," I reassure him. "Besides, all of our ranks will go down for this stage anyway. We're combining with the Dauntless-born."

"That's true."

We walk on in silence for a moment until he leads me to a hall where there is no traffic, effectively detaching ourselves from our friends. Justin stops and leans against the wall, so I do the same but put some space between us.

"You're honestly amazing though," he shakes his head and slides closer. Oh boy, here we go. I bite my cheek and force myself to look at him. "I bet you'll come in first again either way."

I shrug noncommittally. "I don't know." I want to add that is not a big deal to me if I do or I don't, but for the rest of the initiates, the top rank is a big deal.

"Don't do that," he says, lifting my chin up with his finger. "Don't put yourself down. You're so brave that you could do anything." He pauses and caresses my cheek, and I desperately want to push him away. But the last time I was insensitive about another boy's feelings, he turned on me, tried to throw me into the chasm, and then threw _himself_ into the chasm when I wouldn't forgive him. I don't think Justin would react that way, but then again, I didn't think Al would, either.

"We've all heard about the things you did in the war, you know. You stopped the simulation, you turned yourself into Erudite to spare everyone else. You saved so many lives, and you must be so proud." His green eyes scan me with amazement, and when he is this close, I see freckles on his nose. He _is_ handsome...

I cringe. "I'm not proud of anything I did—"

He cuts me off, "Come on, Tris. Take a compliment for once, will you?" Before I can reply, he presses his lips to mine.

Frozen in place and just a tiny bit curious, I don't retreat. I have only kissed one person in my life, so I am not sure what it is supposed to feel like with someone else. Justin's lips are warm and soft like Tobias's, but they are infinitely different from Tobias's. Because he is not him.

That is when I pull back with a hand on his chest. "Justin," I mutter. "This isn't going to work."

"Oh." He leans back with hurt in his eyes. "Why not?"

"Because," I start. "Because we're friends, and I don't feel that way about you. Because I think you like the idea of me and the stories of my 'heroism', when you don't really know me. Because..." And I finally admit it to myself, and aloud. "You're not _him_."

The man I loved is not like anybody else. He is the only thing I am used to, and everything else feels wrong. It is not because he is the only familiar thing I know, but because even this kiss just now felt like disloyalty. Nobody could replace Tobias, or his role in my life.

I am his, and he is mine, and it has been that way all along.

"I'm not Tobias Eaton," Justin scowls. "I'm not our _instructor_. You know what the difference between me and him is? I actually like you. You said it yourself that he doesn't, and he doesn't treat you like it."

I close my eyes. "Justin, he and I have always had problems, a lot of them coming from my end too. And that is what I mean by not knowing me; you don't know the horrible acts I have committed, you don't know how disagreeable a person I am, you don't know the dark parts of me that I don't reveal," I try to explain. "You have an incredible image of me that I would never live up to. Even if I didn't still have feelings for him, I would give you the same answer."

My clarification has erased most of the pain of rejection from his expression. He runs a hand through his light hair and sighs understandingly.

"I guess I get it..." he says. "I'm just embarrassed now—"

I cut him off. "Don't be. We don't ever have to bring this up again, and we can just be friends like usual. Okay?"

With a slight smile, he pulls me into a hug, and I let out a breath of relief at the fact that I seem to have handled this situation correctly. "Okay. Friends."

* * *

All around me is pure darkness.

I feel around for something that can guide me through it, or maybe a light, but I am engulfed in empty space.

"Hello?" I call out, hoping for some assistance. Nobody responds.

Taking a step forward, I notice that my movements are restricted. Something is attached to my ankles and yanks at me when I try to walk further. Before I have time to contemplate the disturbing fact that I can only take one step in each direction, the screaming starts.

First, it is Caleb. The last family member I have left.

"Beatrice!" he screams from nowhere. It echoes around me and swallows me whole.

"Caleb," I gasp, struggling against my restraints. He sounds like he is in pain. I have to help him.

Then, another voice joins him. Christina.

"Tris, help me!" she cries out.

I start panicking. _Not my best friend._

And then Uriah adds to the chorus of agonized voices. And Dez. I barely catch the sound of Zeke's screams before they all overlap each other as more chime in.

"Stop!" I shout, covering my ears. My breaths come in short gasps as I try to block out the terrorizing sounds.

But the worst part is when it all ceases, just like I commanded, and the silence is replaced by the one person whose pain is directly mine.

"Tris!" Tobias screams from the void.

"No," I whimper, sinking to my knees. "No, no."

He pleads for help, and I plug my ears because if I listen, I will break. His screams soon morph into cries.

I have only seen Tobias cry once—which makes this circumstance where I can't see him worse because his face is up to my imagination. It was when I woke him up from the simulation that controlled him, when he almost killed me. Something about his sobs is heart-wrenching; maybe because he is so strong and is always supposed to be in my eyes. He is supposed to be unbreakable. But he isn't, and that scares me more than this whole sim.

"Tris," he cries out again. "It hurts."

_Sim_. Of course this is a simulation. It wouldn't make sense if it were real. I focus on the sound of my heartbeat, the only predictable thing in this situation, and repeat to myself that _it isn't real, it isn't real._

I emerge into reality silently.

"Tris," Tobias whispers next to me. Somewhere in the depths of my mind, I register his hand on my shoulder.

Pushing myself off of the reclined chair, I stand and pace to the door like I am going to leave, and then I think better of it, walking right back and straight into his arms.

An uncontrollable sob bursts from me and is muffled by his shoulder. I curl my shaking fingers into his jacket and clutch onto him like he will disappear at a moment's notice. I just lost him in the sim, but it feels like I lost him a long time ago.

"That was my w-worst fear," I stutter out in between bouts of tears. "That the last people I love will die, and I won't be able to do anything about it."

"Shh..." He runs his hand through my hair. "You don't have to explain it."

I continue on anyway. "My previous worst fear went away because it already happened. I _killed_ my parents."

"Tris," he scolds, keeping me at arms' length. "Don't say that. Don't _ever_ say that. They made a choice—"

"To defend _me_," I eek out, guilt tightening my airway. The sight of their bodies, each littered with bullet holes, replays in my mind.

"Because they loved you. And their sacrifice was worth it."

My crying reaches a new height, and he envelopes me back into his embrace. His lips on my forehead erase the immediate anguish and chase away the rest of my misery. With Tobias, I can be strong and whole and loved. I can be the Tris that met him. I can be the Tris that took his hand when I wanted to, and kissed him back at the chasm.

He is the only person who can bring me back.

* * *

Today was rocky, like varying cliffs of emotions that constantly kept me on edge. So I go to a place where I can escape it all and enjoy a moment of peace.

The gaping hole in the ceiling is the only source of light, but the stars above don't provide much of it. Underneath hangs the net that caught me each time I took a daring leap into this faction, and I am surprised to see that it is occupied. There is only one other person in this compound who has the capability of feeling appreciation for simple things, so I approach the net with comfortable steps, knowing exactly who lies in it: the boy who pulls me out of it each time I land.

Tobias glances over at me when I haul myself into the net and roll into the space beside him. I don't speak as I lie there and link my fingers together on my stomach.

"None of the victims are connected in any way that I could find," he says slowly.

"So it's just random?" I sigh at the unfairness of it all. But then again, that makes it sound like it would be fair if certain people were being targeted, and that's not just either. This will complicate finding a reason for the deaths of these people, as well as who is coercing them to kill themselves.

Tobias hums in affirmation next to me. "Yes, but you should look at their files just in case I missed something." He has always insisted on my perceptiveness.

A lump grows in my throat, a sign that I am uneasy. "I don't want to talk about it right now," I utter quietly. Suicide is not an appealing topic, as it transports me back to dark places.

"Okay."

We slip back into heavy silence. A gust of summer wind dives into the hole above our heads and bathes us in a warm breeze. As I close my eyes to enjoy it, he reaches out and takes my hand in his, causing me to go unexplainably stiff.

He notices the movement and grazes his thumb over the back of my hand in tiny circles. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Tris," he murmurs.

"I'm not," I deny, relaxing back into the net. But I realize where that irrational fear stems from: he once drove a knife through my heart, making him unpredictable. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I register that contact with him is always a risk, since he could tear himself away from me whenever he decided. It is a defense mechanism to tense up and give him mixed signals.

Tobias lifts my hand up with his palm pressed to the back of it now. I don't think anything of it until I feel his lips on my wrist, directly against the four scars that line it.

Automatically, I rip myself from his grip.

"How did you know about them?" I demand, sitting up and backing away from him. Because he crossed my boundaries. "Tell me!"

My scars—my moment of weakness, my breaking point—are something I never wanted him to know about. I never wanted anyone in general to know about them because in a place like Dauntless, any sign of a lack of strength is frowned upon. Suicidal tendencies are especially seen as grotesque in the city at the moment, with the current news of it in circulation.

It was supposed to stay between Caleb and I. And the scars have faded immensely since then; the thin, white lines would only be noticed if they were pointed out.

So how does he know?

Tobias looks utterly bewildered. "I thought you knew..."

"Knew _what_?"

He props himself up and faces me. "Tris," he says, reaching out for me. He tightens his jaw when I jerk my fingers away from his touch. "I was _there_."

_The sun is beginning to set. It is fall now, meaning that the light disappears well before it used to in the evening. The orange of the sunset peeks into the Abnegation kitchen and paints the walls with something other than dull, plain gray._

_The fact that it is evening means that Caleb will be home from his faux charitable work in the factionless sector soon. That thought alone is enough to renew the awful pit in my stomach that fills me with dread. I will have to hurry and eat dinner before he gets home, unless I wanted to be trapped at a dinner table full of false pleasantries coming from his end and murderous glares from mine._

_That is my life now. No matter what I do, I am stuck. I am restrained to this house where my mother's hums still echo off the walls, where the ghost of my father reads the newspaper at the table. The place that I left because I was not perfect enough to play along anymore, yet here I am, after witnessing how horrible the world can be outside this home filled with lies and deceit._

_It is an endless cycle of reflecting on the misled choices I have made that led to my current regret. It is monotony where I try to immerse myself back into this selfless community only to get caught up in thoughts of war, war, war. Always war and overwhelming guilt, without a break, with nothing to keep me busy._

_After two months of this, I have decided that this loop will continue on until I perish._

_When I begin moving robotically throughout the kitchen to get the supplies I need to make dinner, I am hit with a familiar thought:_

_I don't want to do this anymore._

_It is an idea I have had before, but this time it strikes me as odd and unrecognizable. During the war, I threw myself into harm's way. I flippantly claimed to myself that I wanted to die, but now...this time, I mean it._

_Before I escaped Erudite, I realized at my execution that I wanted to live, to hold on, to grasp onto those strings that tie me to life. I felt that way a few days after, even, when I pulled myself together for one last ride, for the information that Jeanine killed the Abnegation over._

_But that was when I had my friends. That was when I had Tobias. They're not here now, and though I will see the last of them next year, some relationships cannot be mended. Besides, at this point I am not sure I will be able to hold on long enough to meet them again._

_Tears blur my vision when I recall the bittersweet moment of when Tobias and I returned to his house in Abnegation. After weeks of torture, I still found it in me to love and be loved, and that was when I told him those three words for the first time to his face. And when I curled up in his arms in bed that night, for a moment I felt tranquility—the city around us was in tatters, but I had him._

_I don't have anyone anymore._

_While I don't have the guts to go through with actual suicide, the desperate urge to replace mental pain with something else drives me. The cutting board beneath me is littered with teardrops, but that is not the thing lying on the slab of wood that grasps my attention._

_I pick up the knife and examine it with a strange interest. My miserable image reflects back at me in the blade, and I carry it with me and perch myself on a chair at the kitchen table with the idea that if I replace mental pain with physical, then maybe I will be temporarily relieved. After all, I can handle physical agony; I have been shot in the shoulder and pummeled during initiation, so this shouldn't be overwhelming._

_Pressing the tip of the blade to my wrist, I wince but carry on until the line of blood travels all the way across. This first one is the worst because I am unaccustomed to this deep stinging._

_This cut, I decide, is for my parents. Selfless through and through, they silently taught me important lessons about sacrificing and love. I was never good enough to live by their examples, and it was the reason that I unthinkingly got them killed._

_Underneath it, I carve another cut, admiring the way my flesh parts around the knife._

_This second cut is for my friends that I was unable to save. I directly caused Will's death when I shot him in the head, seeing no other choice at the time than what my fatally-wired brain saw. I couldn't prevent Marlene from jumping off the roof of Dauntless, or so I believed. If I wouldn't have foolishly chased after Jeanine that morning when Max met with Jack Kang, then maybe Shauna would have gotten the medical attention she needed sooner and would not be paralyzed today. Lynn was already in jeopardy when she went to attack Erudite, having been susceptible to the simulation serum, and I knew and did nothing to stop her; preventing her from going could have prevented her death._

_Too many people surrounding me have paid for it._

_With a shudder and unavoidable tears, I cut a third mark into my wrist. This one is for the Abnegation Caleb, the altruistic brother who always scolded me for not projecting myself outward. He was twisted and manipulated in Erudite, and he came out scathed enough that he would deliver his own sister to her execution for the sake of knowledge. Maybe if I had seen it earlier, I could have prevented his transfer._

_With a deep breath, I watch the crimson blood leak out from the slices in my skin and drip onto my dress and the floor. I sniffle and decide that I will do one more because even though I am mostly numb, there is somebody else that deserves to mark my skin as revenge for the evil I did them._

_The fourth cut is for Four himself and the constant anguish I put him through. I often like to tell myself that it is his fault that I am struggling through each day—because if I had the promise of him waiting for me, then I wouldn't be—but he was only protecting himself by splitting us up. He loved me, and I took that love and ran off with it in a labyrinth of danger. He chased after me for a long time, but then he stopped, and I acted like I was surprised? Of course he wouldn't want to be with me; he gave me everything and I never gave back. He only wanted me to stay alive and with him, and I didn't have the decency or courage to do that. I was a coward who wanted the easy way out of the war._

_I watch the blood continue to ooze out of my wrist, out of the four slits. The guilt that gnaws at me is heavier, rendering the cuts painless._

_I don't register that the front door opens, or that Caleb is crying out to me, screaming at me about how I could do such a thing. I don't feel him tend to my wounds or carry me up the stairs to my bedroom. When I do wake up from my trance, the ordeal rewinds in my mind, and I realize how I got here, with a bandage on my wrist and with the moonlight spilling into my bedroom._

_In my numb state, I see Tobias sitting at the foot of my bed in my peripheral vision. He is handsome like I remember him, and his face is gentle when I hear him say, "Don't do this to yourself, Tris," in my subconscious. And then he is gone when I take a full glance to see if he was real._

_It could never be real, especially since the Tobias I last confronted wasn't the same one I fell in love with. _

_However, it is enough to wrack my brain and get me to ask myself _what the hell were you thinking?

_I start sobbing hysterically, filled with angst and confusion and a desperate need for human contact and empathy. If I am going to give life another chance and forget about torturing myself, then I can't be alone._

_Caleb is awake when I find him downstairs on the couch and staring at the fireplace with unease in his expression. I collapse in his arms with a whimper of, "Caleb," because in this moment I don't care that my brother betrayed me. I need him, and maybe this is where he can redeem himself. In that moment, I hate myself for all the mistakes I have made enough that I am able to set aside my contempt for him._

_And when I see the strained worry on his face, I vow that I will never harm myself again. It isn't worth it. If tonight has proven anything, it is that people can grow back together, and life can get better with more people in it._

I watch Tobias with awe when I realize how his words connect. That night, I didn't hallucinate him. He was real—kind and real and _there_.

"You were there," I repeat softly to myself in an effort to set the truth into stone.

He nods and meets my eyes with his near ebony ones. "Caleb sent me an urgent message through the factionless, something relating to you," he narrates. "I left Dauntless and went straight there. I was shocked when I heard what happened...and I didn't know what to say to you, or if being there was fine in the first place."

"Well, it worked," I tell him, my voice choked with emotion. "What you said."

It gave me the jolt I needed to get my act together. It prevented any future harm toward myself. He _saved_ me.

He sits up completely, and I shift closer to him, no longer desiring a distance between us. With a pained expression, he admits, "I couldn't bear to see you like that. You were gone, replaced by a void. I couldn't believe that the girl who conquered fear landscapes with ease and antagonized me while I threw knives at her head was reduced to that."

My eyes become wet as much as I try to blink away the tears. I never wanted to be that person he saw, but the events of the war shattered me into tiny pieces that still have yet to be put back together.

"Ever since then, I've wanted to see you awake again." I remember him telling me similar words once. He angles my head up with his hand on the back of my neck and presses his forehead to mine. "I wanted to see the girl I fell in love with again. That was why I kissed you during paintball; for a second, you were her. My first jumper."

"Tobias..." I whisper miserably, tears running down my cheeks.

His lips brush mine as he speaks delicately. "I want to build you up again. I want to be a better person for you."

My breaths are ragged as I try to control myself from having a catharsis.

"Come back to me, Tris."

With a sudden urgency, we simultaneously close the gap in between us. The kiss is curious, feeling out familiar waters, and then it morphs into something disparate, something eager. It is not like his shy one that I didn't reciprocate, and it is not like yesterday's coverup that we were enthusiastic about. Finally, we don't have to hold back any longer, and after today's revelations, I am compelled to show him how I truly feel.

Our lips fall into a synchronized dance that we easily recognize. We sit straighter, move closer, until our thighs are pressed flush together and our torsos are aligned. My hands tangle in his thick hair and his shirt because I am desperate for something to hold onto; if I didn't have something to anchor me, my fingers would be trembling from the intensity.

The way his arms are wrapped around me, rendering me locked in a stubborn grip and unable to escape, sends a new course of need into the kiss. A need to make up for lost time, a need to keep each other exactly where we are and never slip out of touch again. The warm familiarity of him makes me realize how I will always want this, want him.

We part only when I pull back reluctantly, longing for air but yearning for him more. I cradle his face in my palm and breathe, "I'm scared, Tobias."

I'm anxiously hoping for this to go right this time, but I am equally terrified because of the results of our relationship last time. I am fearful of us undermining each other until we become exactly what we wanted to avoid.

"I won't let us break each other again," he murmurs reassuringly. Tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear, he displays the gentle side of him that I don't often witness. "We can take it slow."

I shake my head and admit, "I don't want to. We can't erase the past, and we can't go backward; I think we should continue where we left off."

"Only if you're sure."

As much as I have tried to convince myself otherwise, he is the only thing I have ever been sure about. I seal our inevitable fate with another kiss.

* * *

**Yay, Fourtris is back! Although it won't be smooth sailing from here...  
Thank you for your patience! Updates should continue as normal now.**


	17. Chapter 16

TRIS POV

"Okay, why in the world are you smiling?"

Christina casually drops the question over breakfast, referring to how I have to constantly fight to keep my lips from turning upwards. It is severely uncharacteristic for me, but my elation stems from the events of last night, so none of my friends can know the reason.

"I am?" I ask, puzzled. "I didn't notice. I guess I'm just lost in thought."

Dez catches on to my fib. "Ooh, is it about a boy?" she teases. I am glad to see her in better, more lively spirits today as opposed to her closed-off behavior yesterday.

I shake my head and am about to vehemently deny her accusation when Christina smacks the table and blurts out, "Oh my God! The last time you were like this was when—"

Knowing exactly what she is going to say—that the last time I smiled this much was when I started secretly dating Tobias last initiation—I reach over the table and cup my hand over her mouth before she can get the words out. She rolls her eyes but lets it slide, for now.

"So it _is_ about a boy," Dez states knowingly, curling her brunette hair around her finger.

"Oh, would you look at the time," I say, pushing myself up from the table and taking one last bite of my muffin. "Training starts in a few."

Crumpling up the muffin wrapper in my hand and tossing it in a nearby garbage, I walk toward the dining hall doors. I catch Tobias's eye on the way where he is sitting across from Zeke and give him a sly grin. He returns it by discreetly hiding his expression behind his cup. I like how at ease everything is between us now, like the tension dissipated and we fell right back into rhythm.

"Tris, wait up!" Dez calls as she chases after me in the hallway.

I stop until she falls into stride with me. "Where's Christina?"

"She said she'll meet us there. I wanted to talk to you about something..." She hesitates and anxiously tugs on the hem of her shirt. "Something private."

Oblivious to her reasoning but sensing the importance, I veer off into another hallway. "Is something wrong?" I inquire.

"Yeah, I..." She suddenly blurts out, "I'm Divergent—"

"Shhh!" I hiss at her with urgency, glancing around to make sure we are alone. "Don't _ever_ say that out loud."

Dez looks petrified at my warning. "Sorry, I just figured that it wasn't so dangerous anymore. I mean, I remember hearing that you announced that you were one at Candor."

My idiocy is unmatchable at times, although everyone in the city would have known about my Divergence when I turned myself in to Erudite anyway. "That was unwise of me," I tell her honestly. "It is still dangerous. People are still wary of people like us because they don't fully understand what it means."

"_I _don't even know what it means," she mumbles.

"It—" I pause to think of an answer. I have been given so many different definitions and explanations of the word Divergent that I am not sure how to put it. "Specifically, it means that you can resist serums and simulations, or you can tell that they are fake in fear sims. In broader terms, it means you don't conform to society and to the factions. And in a world like ours, you don't want the wrong people to find out what you are unless, at the very least, you want to be considered treasonous."

I don't mention that Erudite is the heart of the problem. With Jeanine released, and with the past habits of Erudite being involved in the deaths of Divergents, I will never cease my wariness of that faction.

Shaking my head, I add, "You don't really need to know about it. What you do need to know is that you need to keep it hidden; don't tell anyone about it, and don't reveal it in the simulations." When I notice her stifled expression, I sigh. "Who else knows about this?"

"Four does."

Clearly, because who else would have told her that in the first place? I was just worried that she told someone who could potentially turn on her.

"That's fine. Just ask him how to hide your Divergence in the sims, and he will help you."

Dez nods before folding me in a hug. "Thank you, Tris," she says sincerely. "I was so scared when I found out. I didn't know who to go to, but I knew I could trust you."

After I squeeze her back, we start walking toward the simulation room. "Of course. And you know, that actually makes a lot of sense now," I comment with a friendly smile. "Dauntless and Amity."

That is Dez: an equal blend of kindness and optimism with fierceness and courage. It seems strange how two opposite factions could be blended into one girl.

We arrive at the waiting room where we greet our friends and ignore their suspicious questions about where we were and why we split up from them. All of us pass the time with cordial banter as initiates are called in to face their terrors one at a time. We talk about topics ranging from Dez's old pets to tales of Zeke's inane drunk behavior.

Out of nowhere, Uriah brings up, "Did you guys hear about the break-in at Candor?"

I stiffen, as if everyone knows that I was involved. I didn't exactly know this would be city-wide news.

"No, what happened?" Christina leans forward, interested in the subject because it involves her former faction.

"A guy and a girl broke in and stole literally everything off of a records computer."

Justin's jaw drops. "_Everything_?"

"Yeah, seriously. And get this, the guy was dressed in black, but the girl was in Candor clothes. So they have no idea what faction they're from if at all."

"It sounds like they would have to have been Dauntless to make that escape," Dez states. I stare down at my hands as I wind a stray thread from my shirt around my finger, determined to stay innocent and uninvolved in this conversation.

Justin disagrees. "I don't think some average Dauntless would know how to pull something like that off."

"Tris, you're smart. Who do you think it was?" Christina asks encouragingly.

I shrug and try to remain uninterested. "Probably just factionless causing trouble," I offer.

The conversation is steered away once I give my input. Silent with relief, I lean back against the wall behind me and hope that I can escape the company of my friends soon. I haven't had the opportunity to be alone with Tobias since the prior night, and I find myself jittery as I wait for him to beckon to me.

Eventually, it happens. He steps out and calls out my name with a neutral face, and I follow him inside the room, wondering when I became eager to head straight into my worst fears.

When he shuts the door behind us, I finally feel like I can relax. With all of the prying eyes of the other initiates, I feel like they somehow know about us by the slight bounce in my step or in the casualty in which we interact with each other.

Tobias steps over to the computer and preps the serum while I take a seat. "You should come over tonight," he suggests. I catch the sight of his tattoo peeking out from the top of his shirt and realize that it has been much too long since I have seen the full piece. "You know, to go over those files."

"Go over files, huh?" I tease. "Is that all we'll be doing?"

He casts me an easy grin over his taut shoulder. "Maybe, maybe not."

I imagine how straightforward tonight will be, since I don't have to play guessing games or avoid him anymore. The idea of having a relaxing night where I can kiss him all I want and fall asleep next to him has me suddenly motivated to get through this day.

He turns as I brush my hair away from my neck. The needle is in and out fast, not long enough for me to dwell on the sharp pain, and it is replaced by his lips right after. A desire to hold him right there burns through me, but he is gone before I can stop him.

"Good luck," he says, his eyes alight. And like we both can't help ourselves, we meet in the middle for an actual kiss this time. I suppose we are desperate for affection now after receiving none for nearly a year.

"I'll be back in three minutes," I promise, my eyes drooping. "Then we can continue."

He laughs briefly and retreats to the computer. "Try to beat that time."

* * *

TOBIAS POV

It is strange how monotonous and inherently unenjoyable life is when you are alone. I have been alone for almost my whole life, since my childhood was spent surrounded by parents who don't deserve that title, so I normally tell myself that I don't need anybody, but that is false. Friends can help fill the hole of emptiness I feel in my day-to-day life, but there is nobody in particular who can make me somewhat excited to conquer each day than Tris herself.

As soon as I invite her into my apartment, it suddenly seems as though the whole room just got brighter somehow. I grin and pull her into my arms, placing a demanding hand on the back of her neck to keep her there.

"Is it clingy to say that I missed you today?" Tris mumbles into my shoulder. I get a whiff of her naturally clean scent and decide that being alone is unbearable.

"No," I say. "We've been apart for much longer than that."

She slides out of my grasp and links her fingers with mine before leading me over to my computer desk across the room. Printed pages of all the records of the recent suicide victims are strewn across the table.

"Show me?" she asks, sinking down into the chair behind it.

Leaning over her, I organize the haphazardly-set papers into eight piles, each one for each suicide. "I didn't get time to go through each and every page," I say. "Just the list of relatives, factions they lived in, jobs they had..."

Tris studies the papers with extreme concentration, her eyebrows pulling together. I missed that look of her using her partially Erudite-wired brain to her advantage.

After a few minutes of standing there while she is busy, I feel out of place, so I ask her if she wants some water to give myself something to do. She responds in the affirmative, and I head over to my kitchenette.

"Wait," she says out loud, but I assume she is talking to herself. I reach for a glass in the cupboard and begin filling it with water from the tap.

"I found something!" she shouts out of nowhere, and it startles me to the point where I nearly drop the glass into the sink. Catching it just in time, I set it aside on the counter and head back over to where she is enthusiastically flipping and scanning pages.

"What is it?" I ask, looking over her shoulder.

"I checked the death certificates. And so far, four out of five have something in common," she replies.

On one of the pages, she points to the section that describes the cause of death and lists anything else that was discovered during the body examination. The line she is indicating says, "Puncture in neck." On another page, she points to the same phrase.

We both quickly work to make sure that each suicide victim has the same puncture. The only one that is not listed as having it is Rebecca Jacobs, who assumedly did have the same wound except it was concealed by the damage done to her neck when she hanged herself.

"So your assumption was right," Tris concludes, rising from the chair. "They were all injected with a serum before they died. Although wouldn't the coroner for each person have tested their blood? It would have come back positive, right?"

"Not necessarily. Take the fear simulation serum, for example. That only lasts until you work your way out," I explain.

She nods and stares down at the table again. "Makes sense." After slight hesitation, she says, "Have we decided for sure that an Erudite is behind this?"

"I believe so. It is odd that none of the victims are Erudite. Besides, who else would have developed the serum in the first place?" But there is still nothing that indicates the motive. I may not trust the Erudite in general, but I am not going to mentally accuse them all of murder unless they have actually done this. And so far, I don't know why they would want to kill random citizens.

"Yes, but now what? We can't prove anything yet without concrete evidence," she points out.

I sigh, my mind drowning in knowledge. "I don't know, Tris. The next step would probably be to break into Erudite, see if we can get information on their development of the serum and who is using it."

Coming to the same conclusion that I have, she rubs her eyes and states, "I don't want to embark on another escapade for a while. Candor was enough to wear me out."

"I agree." Then we abruptly drop the topic because today has been long, and neither of us wants to spend the rest of it strenuously mulling over future plans to steal from another faction. Noticing her yawn, I suggest, "You should get some rest."

She smiles sleepily and slings her arms around my neck. "Only if I get to sleep here tonight," she bargains.

How could I say no? I close the distance between us and kiss her momentarily in response. Even that slight fraction of a second of her lips on mine is enough to leave me longing for more.

"Can I borrow a shirt?" she murmurs when we pull back.

I release a heavy breath like I am begrudgingly handing off my clothes to her. In reality though, the picture of her clad in one of my oversized, black shirts would be a sight for sore eyes. "I suppose."

We retire soon after, and I turn out the light and crawl under the covers with my mind still pulsing. Even with Tris pressed up against me, back in her old place in my bed, I cannot seem to temporarily obliterate the fact that a serum that was developed to give people suicidal urges is in the hands of people who are using it consistently.

What if they are targeting Divergents? But if so, wouldn't Divergents be able to resist the serum? If it really is just random, then why are the suicides not happening in Erudite? And now that it occurs to me, Abnegation?

My thoughts are focused elsewhere when Tris shifts slightly before rolling over to face me. I can barely make out the contours of her face with the absence of light. It is bizarre to think that after all of the caustic things we have said to each other, after all of the deceit, after how we both abandoned each other in our own ways, we somehow wound up back here, sharing the same bed.

"Are we ever going to live in a world where we don't have to worry about the city collapsing?" Her thoughts are right on track with mine.

"Probably not," I answer truthfully, brushing her cheek. At least, I don't see that happening in the near future.

"When I said I was scared, I meant it." Her fingers reach up to close over mine, and she whispers, "I'm afraid that as soon as there is another conflict, both of us will snap, and we will be right back to where we started."

I understand her fear. From the beginning of the war, neither of us was willing to rely on the other. That lack of faith drove a crack between us, a crack that widened and splintered us as the pressure grew.

"Tris. I said I wouldn't let that happen."

She lowers our hands to the empty space between us. "Until it comes down to it."

I counter her obstinance with my own. "This time, there won't be secrets between us," I stress. "This time, we will put us as our priority before we make any decisions."

"And what if that isn't enough?"

Eventually finding an appropriate response, I tell her, "We broke up, loathed each other, yet here we are. If we are strong enough to survive that and come back together, then we don't have anything to worry about."

* * *

Panicked gibberish and a shaking mattress drag me out of my deep slumber.

Perplexed, I open my eyes and squint until I see Tris lying next to me, her back toward me, though I didn't need to glance over to know she was there. She has warned me that this would happen, but now that it is, I don't know how to handle it.

Reaching out for her, I murmur her name groggily to pull her from her nightmare. If the way she continues hysterically breathing is any indication, she isn't hearing me.

I press a hand to her shoulder and shake her with more power, calling out, "Tris." This seems to be the incorrect way to handle this because I am met with an elbow jabbing into my eye.

"Ow!" I cry out.

Before I can do anything more than cover my eye socket with a frustrated groan, she lets out a disturbed scream that shocks me to my core. Desperate to put an end to this and prevent any further damage to myself, I position myself on top of her and pin her wrists to the bed. She struggles in between sobs and nearly kicks me in a sensitive place, but once I have her legs restrained, she begins to settle down.

"Tris, wake up," I say.

Her eyes fly open at my words, wildly glancing around to make sure that the horrors she has just witnessed are gone. I watch as her breathing gradually slows, her chest rising and falling at a steady rate beneath me.

"Tobias," she croaks. "Why are you sitting on me?"

At the reminder, I collapse back onto my side of the bed. "You hit me in your sleep," I explain, rubbing the eye that isn't currently throbbing. It is too early in the morning for me to really process what just occurred. "I didn't want you to hurt me, or yourself. Are your nightmares always like this?"

This wasn't even a nightmare; this was fear alone, pure and raw. Her chilling scream reminded me of the time when Jeanine injected her with some type of fear serum so that I would give up information about the factionless safe houses. I have never witnessed her to be as petrified as she was then at any other point in time.

Wiping the tears from her cheeks with the sleeves of my shirt that she is wearing, she replies, "They used to be like this. I thought I had them under control, since I couldn't exactly let this happen in the dormitory. In fact, I haven't had a nightmare in a few days, which is odd for me."

"Nightmares aren't supposed to be this bad." I frown. "Nightmares aren't supposed to make you scream yourself awake, or make you wail in your sleep."

No, this is something else. It is not normal for her to suffer through countless horrid images night after night. This recurring problem suggests that something else is the root.

I don't have to be a doctor to know that Tris is perturbed and has been since the war.

Which gives me an idea. "Maybe you should see someone. I could help you find a good doctor in the infirmary, or even in Erudite if you need—"

"I'm fine," she growls defensively.

I scoff. "Clearly, you aren't."

"Yes, I am."

I tighten my jaw, unwilling to continue with this childish banter. I don't know why she is opposed to being diagnosed and maybe even treated for her apparent mental illness, but I am half asleep and currently don't want to deal with this right now.

"Could you just..." She sighs and curls up into my chest, requesting innocently, "Could you fight them off for me?"

Wrapping a protective arm around her, I shut my eyes. Her body is warm from her frightened state but softer than I remember. It molds right to mine, and I let our synchronized breathing lull me back to sleep.

* * *

TRIS POV

Justin winks at me as he passes, his rifle casually swinging in his hand while he walks his way over to a bench for his break from patrolling. My back aches when I realize that I won't get my break for another hour.

"Is he still acting flirty?" Christina asks, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand pressed to her forehead.

"No, he's fine." I wouldn't want her to accidentally—or deliberately—spill the secret that he kissed me, so I don't mention it. I deflect, "How's it going with Bryce?"

She breaks out into an effervescent grin. "Oh! I forgot to tell you. We talked for a while the other night, and I really think he likes me. He's just shy."

I am genuinely happy for her, that she has found someone and that she is able to carry on dating now after I stole her chances with Will.

I have trouble swallowing. But maybe if Christina can move on from his death, then so can I.

Hopefully this Bryce will treat her well. From what I hear though, he is nerdy and quiet, so I don't think he will be any trouble.

"So the exact opposite of you?"

I receive a playful shove in response. Checking my watch, I realize that it is again the top of the hour.

"I better go make my rounds," I say. "I'll talk to you later."

"Okay. But don't think we're not having a certain conversation about a certain someone! Don't think I didn't notice that you didn't sleep in the dormitory last night!" she calls after me as I walk away.

Shaking my head at her antics, I pass a cluster of factionless and head through an alley, planning to cut around a building and go through another alley to reach the street I am supposed to patrol next. The gravel crunches under my combat boots when I step into the alley. Up ahead, I hear movement, but when I stare down at the end, nobody is there. Frowning distrustfully, I lift my rifle slightly as I continue. There really is nothing to worry about though, considering I don't believe that anyone would be stupid enough to attack me in broad daylight with my fellow initiates nearby.

At the end of the narrow street, I bump into someone who rounds the corner in a flash of gray. I am about to apologize and continue on, until I realize exactly who I ran into.

"Beatrice, what a surprise."

I thought I wouldn't have to see him after I left Abnegation again.

"What do you want, Marcus?" I sneer, not at all fooled by the fact that he conveniently happened to be in my path.

His aging eyes narrow in on me, and I am surprised yet again at how similar they are to Tobias's, yet so much more frigid. I tighten my hands around my gun just in case. He is not to be trusted.

"Why, nothing of course. I just happened to be helping out the factionless—"

"What do you want?" I snap again.

He drops the act completely at my hostile attitude. "I know it was you. And I want you to change my status in the system, clear me of my false child abuse crimes."

"Excuse me?" I pretend to be puzzled by his demand.

"I'm not _stupid_. I know it was you," he repeats. "You and that deranged son of mine broke into Candor. A short, blonde woman, and a tall man dressed in all black?"

I let my gun hang from its strap against my side, crossing my arms defensively. "I have no idea what you think—"

Suddenly, he slams me back into the brick wall behind me. Too stunned to defend myself, I stare up at his infuriated expression while I wheeze out a breath. It is so bizarre how quickly he can switch personalities, though I suppose they are predictable to Tobias.

"Now listen closely. If you don't clear my crimes out of the Candor files, then I will go directly to Candor headquarters and tell them exactly who it was that broke into their records."

I roll my eyes and scoff, despite the fact that he has me pinned up against the wall and has a good half a foot on me. "You're insane if you think I'm going to—"

A white hot stinging surges through my face, and I gasp, pressing my hand to my cheek where he just slapped me startlingly hard.

"You're going to do it, or there is going to be hell to pay, Beatrice Prior. You don't know what I'm capable of."

Even as he leaves the alley with an aura of casualness, I don't glance up, too humiliated to meet his eyes. I clench my teeth together as my face burns bright for more than one reason.

Unbelievable, that I just stood there and let that happen. Do I have any bravery left in me at all? Why did I just take it, why didn't I fight back?

What was with his threat anyway? I figure that he wants his name cleared of child abuse so that he will be allowed back on the council again after a supposed trial that never took place. But he expects to intimidate me, and it is not going to work.

I lean back against the building with an angry huff. Who am I kidding, acting flippant about this? As soon as he mentions our names, Candor guards will arrive at Dauntless promptly to haul us away, and despite the Dauntless obstinance that prohibits other factions from getting involved in our affairs, nobody will stop them from rightfully arresting us.

Before I leave the alleyway, I remember that my cheek is probably still flushed on one side. A new anxiousness washes over me when I think about what I will say when Tobias sees this. He isn't stupid; he will know that somebody hit me, and I already promised that we would never lie to each other again. What kind of a hypocrite would that make me if I kept this from him? What is to stop me from letting the truth pour out anyway, when he knows me better than I know myself sometimes?

At the same time, if I do tell him that his father laid a hand on me...well, let's just say that Marcus won't be around to blackmail or taunt me anymore. And I can't let him do that.

Maybe he doesn't have to know. If I am fortunate, tomorrow there will be no mark on my face, and he will never find out. And besides, considering this is Marcus's only chance to get back in the government's good graces, maybe he won't go through with his ultimatum.

Is this really the best way to handle this, when our relationship has just been glued back into shape and is still fragile?

Quickly coming to a conclusion, I pray that my face has returned to its normal, pale coloring, and step out from the shadows.

Some things are better left unsaid.


	18. Chapter 17

TOBIAS POV

I sit down at our claimed table across from Zeke, raising an eyebrow at him when I see how he is practically inhaling his burger. When he notices me staring at him with amusement, he glares, confused.

"What?" he asks, but it barely sounds like the word because his mouth is filled. Shauna gives me an apologetic look from her spot next to him.

I shake my head and start cutting into the chicken on my tray. "Nothing."

He swallows and clears his throat when the initiates start filing in and taking a seat at their usual spots. Tris slides in the seat next to mine, and Uriah across from her. Their other friends join them a moment later, and I pretend not to notice, although I am hyper-aware of the way Tris _accidentally_ brushes her thigh against mine when she sits. I nearly choke on my dinner when she does, but contain my reaction.

"So, how are you kids doing?" Zeke questions.

Uriah groans dramatically and presses his face into his palm, his eyes dropping closed. I hear Tris kick his leg underneath the table to get him to wake up and participate in the conversation. "We're fine, Zeke. Just tired," she replies politely.

Shauna passes a soft grin over to her and asks, "Didn't the rankings just get posted?" Ever since Tris stood up against the boys who were bullying her that day in the cafeteria, she has developed a new respect for her, I have noticed. The stigma of Divergent must have brushed off her shoulder when she once again saw Tris for who she really was.

"Don't remind me," Christina snarks. "I dropped like ten places."

"Don't be dramatic," Tris scolds. At Shauna's inquisitive stare, she answers, "Uriah is in first, bumping me down to second. Christina went down _two spots_."

I haven't had the chance to congratulate Tris on her hard work in competing for her high rank yet today. Making a mental note to do that when we will undoubtedly meet up later tonight, I graze my fingers teasingly against hers under the table. Out of the corner of her eye, I see her bite her lip at this dangerously public action.

"So what's your problem if you're in first place?" Zeke bumps his brother with his shoulder purposefully.

"I'm exhausted!" Uriah fires back. "We haven't had a break in forever. This is worse than the first time."

Tris and I blankly watch the conversation take place. She dares to loosely intertwine our fingers, and I suck in a breath. If anyone happened to glance under the table, they would see us holding hands.

"That's Dauntless initiation, little bro. We've all had to do it."

"Yeah, but you didn't have to patrol in between fear simulations. That's a tiring new addition."

I zone out of their banter when Tris's palm presses insistently against mine. I forgot how much I enjoyed such simple contact; in fact, she is driving me wild.

"You two think you're so sly."

At the sound of Shauna's knowing comment, our hands spring apart, and our eyes snap up to her.

"What?" I ask innocently, concentrating back on my food.

"Did you think nobody would notice that you're holding hands under there?"

I feel the tips of my ears become warm, and Tris's face is tinted pink when I glance over at her. Thanks to Shauna, now every one of our friends knows about our relationship that is suddenly not so secret anymore. Although, I can't blame her. We weren't being too careful about showing affection at the dinner table.

"I knew it!" Christina exclaims two seats down. "I knew you were acting like this because of him!"

"Okay, this isn't a big deal," Tris tries to argue. "We've been together before."

"Yeah, and it's not like this was unexpected," Uriah nods along with her. How did they read into that?

Shauna shakes her head. "But now we don't have to tiptoe around what we say to you both."

"Plus, now Four's moods can level out," Zeke chimes in. At my glower, he dramatically throws his hands up in defense, like I am about to lean over the table and beat him.

That is the main reason I didn't want our relationship to be well-known: if I have a soft spot to be with Tris, an initiate, then the other initiates will realize that they don't have anything to fear from me. This particular group of trainees already has a knack for causing trouble, but if they were to find out that I am subdued in nature, then I would lose my menacing portrayal. On top of that, I don't want Tris's high rank to be taken into question by the other initiates.

So far though, only her friends know about this. And I'd like to keep it this way.

"This doesn't leave this table," I state, leaning past Tris so I can make eye contact with her friends. "Got it?"

Dez gives me a mock salute. Uriah rewards me with a thumbs up.

"Christina," I growl threateningly. She is the first person I would suspect if this got out, with her loud Candor mouth.

"Of course!" she squeaks out. Luckily, I still hold power over her since she is afraid of me to this day.

Before Tris can direct the topic elsewhere, Zeke holds up his cup in a sort of weak toast. "Seriously though, I'm happy for you guys. It's about time," he says with a bubbly grin.

Unable to withstand sneaking glances anymore, I turn my head toward Tris and give her an actual, brief smile this time. She returns it with the same level of enthusiasm, and I wish I could kiss her, at least on the cheek. I wonder what it will be like when we are allowed to be a couple in public; when we were before and returned here from Candor, we weren't exactly on the best of terms, so we haven't had a real chance to be together in our faction.

It makes me regretful, especially because of the fact that we haven't even been on a date among other things. We have not had the opportunity to be two normal teenagers, though I would consider us to be adults despite our young age.

But maybe it is not too late to change that. She is graduating initiation in a few days, and then she will be choosing a job and settling in as an official member. I wonder if she will want to live in her own apartment, or live with me. Obviously I prefer the latter, but the fact that she will be living in the same faction as me from now on makes me relieved.

After being apart for a year, we will finally be close by, at each other's beck and call. It is reassuring.

And as we spend the rest of dinner laughing along with our friends freely, I realize that I can't wait until every meal can be like this, spent with the people who have had our backs in the worst possible scenarios. Except then, I won't hesitate to show her any affection; the war has taught me that I can't pass up any opportunity to.

* * *

TRIS POV

Upon arriving at Tobias's apartment, I knock on the door and glance down the hallway. Nobody is there, but my paranoia is sometimes more extreme than his, so I keep the hood of my jacket over my head.

Light spills out into the hallway, and I step inside the apartment quickly before Tobias shuts the door. I kick off my shoes and remove my hood. Unsure of what to say for a moment, I take in his appearance: his thick, slightly curled hair, the curve of his mouth, the way the dim lighting in the room leaves a shadow underneath his sharp jawline. I admire the way his shirt clings to his muscled arms, which are crossed as he leans against the closed door.

"Hi," I say shyly, biting my lip.

"Hey," he returns, stepping forward. He brushes my hair away from my face, and once he skims my cheekbone with his knuckles, he frowns. "What happened to your face? I didn't even notice it until now."

He is referring to the pale bruise that resides on my cheek from Marcus's blow. I try to adapt an aura of embarrassment so that he can't see past my lie. "I don't even want to say. I'm so clumsy that it's humiliating sometimes."

If he doesn't accept the answer, he doesn't say anything. It must be because he seems happy to see me and unwilling to instigate an argument so soon in our newly acquired relationship.

"So I was thinking today," he begins, dropping his hand, "about how you'll be a Dauntless member next week. I know you're my girlfriend now, but I don't want to pressure you into moving in with me if you don't want to. It's still kind of early between us anyway. But I'm just saying, if you want to live here, then that option is always available."

It is adorable to see Tobias sheepishly duck his head while he makes the offer. It reminds me that he hasn't had to ask me questions about rooming together or anything normal because during the war, nothing as trivial as if we slept in the same bed mattered. Still, it feels forced and unnatural.

Not wanting him to doubt himself, I wrap my arms around his neck and ask, "Did I hear you call me your girlfriend, Tobias?" echoing his words from long ago. It seems like such a silly word to apply to us when we are much more to each other.

He lets out a chuckle and plants his hands on my waist. There, that feels better. "I suppose so."

"For the record, I would love to live with you," I say, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him. It gives me a boost of courage, and when I lower myself back to the ground, I decide to get out what I have wanted to tell him for a while. Between standing uneasy before offering me water the other night, and now talking to me like we are brand new to this, he needs some reassurance.

Backing up from him slightly, I start with, "Can I tell you something?"

"Of course," he says.

"I just want to be honest with you. The last few days since we got together, I feel like you are trying to take it a little slow with me, or acting uncertain around me over small things. And you don't have to be like that."

He sighs as if he knows exactly what I mean. "I know. I know you said you wanted us to continue where we left off, but I am trying to be careful, I guess."

"You don't have to," I say, meeting his deep eyes. His left one is still bruised from when I accidentally elbowed him in my sleep a couple nights ago. "We've been through a lot together, Tobias."

"Yeah," he agrees. "But that's the problem. I feel like all of the hell we have had to face together has made us ignorant about what being in a normal relationship or spending every day with each other really means. I don't know what I'm doing; I don't know how to be with you when the world isn't completely falling apart around us."

He has a point, and guilt runs through me when I think that I haven't been fair with him. He is the man in our relationship, so the emphasis of guiding us has naturally fallen upon his shoulders—like taking the step of asking me to move in with him, for example. I should make an effort to be clear with him to take the load off.

"I understand." Reaching out for his hands, I clasp them in between us. "But just remember, even though it may have been during tough times, we are still at that place in this relationship without the chaos."

He nods and stares into my eyes. The energy flowing between us has suddenly skyrocketed by being honest and warming up to each other alone.

"We have slept in the same bed," I remind him. "We have kissed, a lot."

At his mischievous grin, I slide my hands up his chest and lock them around his neck again.

"We have shared the dark parts of each other."

The mood shifts to solemn. I know about his horrific childhood, and he knows that I killed my friend, arguably more than one. I know about his fighting habits, and he knows about my past suicidal tendencies. Our privacy is no longer, except between us.

"We have fought alongside each other, and been tortured together."

The days spent having my mind tormented by Jeanine's cruel simulations seep through my mind. Recalling the relieving moments when I would pass a broken Tobias in the hallway and touch his hand makes my heart clench. With conflicted emotions, I leave a kiss on his neck before recoiling back.

"We have made love."

His eyes flash up to mine at the reminder. That night is somehow blurry and vivid at the same time. My soul was overwhelmed with grief, but I was able to throw it aside for a small amount of time as we gave ourselves to each other. It was guilt-ridden and slightly painful and driven by need, but it was love all the same.

And then I left him, and tainted the moment we shared.

Our breaths mix as we mull over our emotions. We are pressed together, and I think we have the same thing in mind, but this time, I am the one who says it first.

"Tobias," I whisper. "I don't want to pretend like we haven't come this far, like I don't..." I pause.

"Like you don't...what?" he prompts me.

I swallow hard and say the words that have been trapped within me for far too long.

"I love you."

The tenderness in his expression is unmistakable. He slams his lips down onto mine as he backs us up toward his bed. I keep him close even as he sits so that we are at eye-level.

Our mouths move passionately as I help him remove his shirt, but though we have no more time to waste without each other, we are in no hurry. Tobias watches with lustful and loving eyes as I let my jacket fall from my shoulders, followed by my tank top. I have seen too much in my life, damaging me beyond repair and eliminating my innocence. But at least the outside world has taught me that my insecurities about my body are the least of my worries.

All too soon, our lips are calling us back to each other, so we connect them while he makes a pathetic attempt to unhook my bra. We both let out a nervous laugh when he fumbles again before I put him out of his misery and help remove it.

Once it is out of the way, we press ourselves flush together, enjoying the bare skin-on-skin contact. Without the pressure of an ending world, this time we are jittery and worrying about every detail that we weren't thinking about then. It seems like I am about to make every possible mistake, even with the assurance that we have done this before.

We stay like this, contently kissing, for a few minutes. Tobias doesn't seem to be interested in being the one to take it further, so I wait until I build my confidence enough to reach for his waistband. From there it is a dizzy haze of lips and undressing, until I am lying back on the bed with nothing separating us. And despite my earlier thoughts, I still have doubts about my body, and it is enough to force me to try to cover myself.

But as soon as I do, he catches my hands and presses his lips to my forehead, whispering, "Beautiful." It erases any remaining fear and replaces it with two types of desire: one that has to do with physicality, and another that has to do with showing him how much he means to me.

This time is infinitely preferable to the last time. We take it slow, drawing out the pleasure and taking each other to new heights. This time I am not breaking a promise, but rather keeping one, and there are no emotional obstacles dividing us. We become secured again, and this time it is for good; we have learned our lesson.

Our fingers stay interlocked for most of it, but sometimes I can't even bear the amount of space between us that is required for that. So I alternate between holding his hand and clinging to his strong shoulders, struggling closer, closer...

And when we let go, it is a breathtaking moment that I will never forget. Especially when he presses his forehead back to mine and murmurs the words that do nothing to calm my racing heart:

"I love you, too."

* * *

Tobias's chest rumbles under my cheek as he speaks, mulling over the time last year when we were sent back to our former factions. I busy myself with tracing the black flames that mark his ribs, listening intently to his inner thoughts and letting the air conditioning cool my skin; I am too comfortable and uncaring about my bareness to reach down and pull the sheets up over me.

"It was strange," he says. "When I came home, I couldn't fall back into place. There was an extensive celebration—you know how the Dauntless are—and then people continued on with their lives, almost as if nothing had happened. Of course, there was a somber aura to the compound that wasn't there before, but it was odd how quickly everyone carried on."

I used to think about him, as much as it sent sharp pangs through my chest to do so. But he was a major part of my life, and it was impossible to just move on. So in the process of returning to my monotonous, Abnegation life, I pondered what he was doing with so much spare time now. I figured that he didn't have any problems, but now he is telling me about how he was drowning after the traumatic events while the people around him were...partying.

He continues, "Zeke and Shauna seemed to understand me, and they were all I had. Uriah picked up his drinking habit after losing Lynn, so we let him join us for meals or whatever we were doing, just to try to wean him off the alcohol. Overall though, I was...missing something. And I didn't want to admit it to myself, but it was you. Even with my friends, it was never enough."

Something in his voice indicates that he was more forlorn than he lets on. I wonder how different our lives would have been if we had stayed together despite being confined to two separate factions. I am willing to bet that I would not have fallen into the slump that I did, that I wouldn't have cut myself, that I wouldn't have been miserable because he would have been waiting for me, the light at the end of the tunnel.

"Is that why you fought?" I ask, flicking my eyes up to his face. "To keep yourself busy?"

He hums in the negative. "It's more complicated than that. I don't like to fight, but I had fallen into that pattern of constant, unpredictable conflict, and without it, I found myself full of pent up...I don't want to call it anxiety, but that is what it was," he tries to explain. After some hesitation, he says, "I don't know if this is making any sense."

"No, I think I understand," I assure him. "It was jarring for me too, going from the action to doing absolutely nothing besides everyday chores."

Tobias skims my shoulder with his thumb in a repetitive circular motion. "I don't think it's just that though," he amends. "I think...there's a part of me that is hostile, and it must have awakened during the war."

He has always had this violent image of himself, derived from the only male figure in his life when he was young. I shake my head in defiance and prop myself up so he will see the seriousness in my eyes. "I refuse to believe that," I say stubbornly. "You're not a violent person, Tobias."

An unbelieving and tortured look flashes across his face before he relents, "Yeah." I know that he will never forgive himself for the Erudite-Dauntless lives he has taken, even if they were out of necessity to defend both our lives.

Unwilling to cause him any angst tonight, I allow the subject to drop. We discuss other topics of lesser gravity until his eyelids begin to droop, and that is when I take my leave.

"I should go," I tell him reluctantly, sitting up and reaching over the side of the bed for my discarded clothes.

"Why can't you stay?" he mumbles tiredly.

"Well, considering Christina noticed that I didn't spend the other night in the dormitory, I figure that it would be more discreet if we spread out the nights that I sleep over."

He huffs out an annoyed breath and closes his eyes, allowing me a moment of privacy while I put my clothes on. After zipping my jacket up, I shimmy my pants up my legs.

"I should at least walk you back to the dormitory," he offers as I am tying my shoes.

It drags a laugh out of me; he sounds exhausted. "Sleep, Tobias," I order, leaning back so that I can kiss him one last time. The way his lips move against mine expertly makes me desperately want to crawl back into bed with him.

But I stand my ground and avoid his temptations. On my way out the door, I flip the light off and take one last glance at him, his chest rising and falling steadily with the sheets pooling around his slender waist.

The walk back to the dormitory is colder than I thought it would be, and lonely. I pull my jacket tighter around myself and wish that I would have stolen one of Tobias's sweatshirts before I left. I drag my feet through a maze of hallways until I arrive at the Pit.

And I am weary, but nevertheless I stop at the chasm, leaning over the railing and staring down at the flat, stone platform where I had my first kiss. I smile with nostalgia. It used to be much less complex between us, but even though things took a downward spiral, I wouldn't change how far we have come. The mayhem we faced has only strengthened our bond, and the innocent teenagers we used to be look like lovesick kids in comparison to us.

As I am reliving the past, I barely register someone walking up behind me to pass on the narrow bridge. I think nothing of it, though it is out of the ordinary that a Dauntless member is awake this far into the night on a week night.

Before I can retreat back into my thoughts, the man behind me says, "This is for sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

Perplexed by the meaning, I am about to ask him what he is talking about, but then I am shoved head over heels over the railing.

I let out a scream of terror and stretch out my arms, nearly missing the upside down railing in front of me. I catch it just in time, and my back slams into the platform when my arms are practically yanked out of their sockets. Hyperventilating, I can't stop myself from staring at the bottom of the chasm, where the rushing water crashes against the rocks. There is no doubt that I will die if I let go, and I will join the rest of the people who have taken the daredevil jump into oblivion.

I refuse to die this way. I have come too far.

"Help!" I cry out, readjusting my grip on the metal bar above my head. As hard as I try to haul myself up, I have always been frail, and the angle is too awkward. "Help me!"

My sweaty palms cause me to slip further, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I pray that someone from the dormitory or anyone that happens to be nearby hears me. All I can think about is how devastated Tobias will be when he wakes up tomorrow morning and finds out that I was thrown into the chasm, when he just got me back. _I should have listened to him; I should have let him walk me to the dorms..._

I gather all the strength I have to prevent that and clasp onto the railing with all of the possible power I have left. My arms tremble from the effort as I let out another shriek of, "Help!"

"Oh God, Tris!"

Someone runs toward me, leaning over the railing and grasping onto my wrists tightly. He and another person pull me up and over the metal bars, setting me back on my feet.

"Uriah," I gasp out, and I can't stop my eyes from filling to the brim with tears.

"Hey, it's okay," he assures me. He embraces me in a brotherly hug that hides me from the eyes of the other curious initiates who are standing behind him on solid ground. Drained of all energy, I collapse into him, loving the warmth radiating off of his chest.

Next to us, Justin looks disgusted when I peek at him. "Who did this?" he demands. "They are going to pay."

"Yeah, Tris. Who?"

I wrack my brain for any details of my assailant, but I didn't see anything. His clothes, his appearance. Nothing comes to mind.

Except the words he said before he tried to kill me.

_This is for sticking your nose where it doesn't belong._

"I don't know," I answer.


	19. Chapter 18

TRIS POV

Inside the fear landscape room, Bryce's face continues to darken with hot blood underneath his cheeks. Since we are practicing for our final test with Lauren's fears again this year, I assume that he is having to battle her phobia of public humiliation.

"So, what jobs are you guys going to pick next week?" Christina asks casually, pulling her eyes away from the sight of Bryce's misery.

Dez shrugs. "Whatever is available for me, I guess. I don't want to be a guard though, for sure," she says.

"Me neither. I'm thinking something along the lines of working in a store in the Pit. You know, with clothes, makeup, piercings. Something like that." Christina turns to me. "What about you, Tris?"

"I have no idea," I answer honestly. It hasn't crossed my mind yet. While juggling initiation, an investigation, and my rehabilitated relationship, my life after initiation hasn't been at the forefront of my thoughts.

"Oh, come on!" Dez exclaims. "You can be anything you want to be, even a leader. You really have no preference?"

I shake my head. "Not particularly." Any typical job will be fine as long as I have a place to live, food, basic necessities. After bouncing from one faction to the next during wartime, I don't care what work I am assigned to, so long as it provides me with some stability. Maybe I will choose to be an ambassador to another faction, or an initiation instructor like Tobias, though I don't think anyone would take me seriously.

But who knows if I will keep my chosen occupation anyway. The city is on the verge of erupting again, and it could easily send us all into a spiraling disaster, where a common life isn't attainable.

"It's fine, we have some time to decide," Christina reassures me. "Although I did want to discuss rooming with both of you..."

Dez claps her hands together with excitement. "That would be so fun!"

I don't want to ruin their obvious enthusiasm, so I stay silent off to the side, watching the next initiate fight off imaginary demons.

Unfortunately, Christina picks up on it swiftly. "What's that look for, Tris?" she questions. "You don't want to live with us or something?"

"No, of course not," I reply, kicking absentmindedly at the floor. "In any other circumstance, I would. It's just...I got another offer."

Across the room, Tobias monitors the progress of each initiate in the practice fear landscape. When nobody happens to be glancing his way, he manages to flash me an almost unnoticeable smile, one that is mostly communicable through his captivating eyes. It reminds me of last night, of how I stared into them as we united ourselves as one.

Christina follows my gaze. "Oh, how cute," she coos.

Dez tilts her head. "I don't get it." Christina flicks her temple, causing her to cry out dramatically, "Ow!"

Christina lowers her voice as she explains my reasoning. "Hello? She is going to live with Four, duh."

"Ohhh," Dez says, her brown eyes wide with realization. "That makes sense. Although it is so weird to me that you two are together, no offense. I will just probably always see him as my instructor, you know?"

"Yeah, I understand," I mutter.

The conversation drops for the time being. We continue to wait our turn until each of us gets the opportunity to practice the awareness we have in the fear landscape and the power to manipulate each obstacle. As a Divergent, it is relieving that I don't have to map out each of my fears and can change my surroundings without the worry of being picked out between everyone else.

When we all finish, Christina and I return to the dormitory so she can apply the rest of her makeup that she rushed on this morning, promising to meet up with our friends for lunch. Nobody else is in the room when we walk in, so we speak freely.

"So, do you have any idea who tried to throw you in the chasm last night?" she asks. I watch as she applies some sort of light powder to her eyelids.

"No," I respond, still baffled by the events of the night before. I had been on a cloud of joy for a moment until I was ambushed and nearly killed in a split second. Since then, I haven't been able to come up with a culprit, and I am a bit too shaken up to be comprehensive about it if I'm being honest. "I still can't believe it happened."

"It just goes to show you that the city is still dangerous, I guess," she comments. "I mean, the suicides, and now this. The world is crazy."

That is a broad way to put it. "I suppose so."

She glimpses over at me skeptically as she digs through her makeup bag. "Why were you at the chasm so late anyway?" she asks.

I hurry and think up a quick lie. "Oh, I had a series of nightmares that I couldn't stomach. I just took a quick walk—"

"Uh-huh." Her response is unbelieving.

I sigh. "Okay, fine. You know exactly where I was." There is no more need to hide it anymore.

"So, a little nighttime action?" she taunts. "No wonder you seemed so worn out this morning."

"Christina!" I hiss at her innuendo. I have seen dead bodies and survived near-death situations, but I don't think I will ever be able to handle having a conversation of this nature without being extremely embarrassed.

She cackles and applies a layer of mascara to her eyelashes. "In all honesty though, I'm glad for you."

The way she pauses robotically and wears some kind of insincerity in her expression clues me in to the fact that something about that statement was false, or held back.

I narrow my eyes. "That's it? You're not going to tease me anymore about it?" I ask incredulously. She is normally relentless.

Christina shrugs.

I straighten from my position of leaning against the bathroom wall. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

She sighs at being caught and sets all of her beauty supplies down, giving me her full attention. "Look, Tris," she says. "I really am happy for you. I just...I'm not sure if you have made the right decision."

I scowl at her, crossing my arms defensively. "My relationship is none of your concern—"

"Just hear me out?" She raises her hands in a calm manner, so I stuff my hotheaded behavior away for a moment. "I know you both have had your issues, and I guess you are past all of it now. But I remember the way you cried next to my bed in the Erudite hospital when I was getting my leg fixed up, and how you would barely speak because you were so upset."

I bite my cheek at the memory. After Tobias broke up with me during the attack on Erudite, the depression set in, fogging up the next week of insanity. I remember the heavy feeling of having to be independent and figure things out on my own; I felt stripped and weightless, yet burdened at the same time.

"He hurt you, Tris. All I'm saying is that I don't want to see that happen to you again."

Now that I understand where she is coming from, I can relax my hands so that my fingernails aren't biting into my palms. She is a concerned friend, that is all. There is no ulterior motive to keep us apart. In her position, I would act in the same way.

I shake my head. "I'm sorry I reacted that way," I apologize. "I'm glad that you're looking out for me, but I believe that this time things are going to work out."

We have changed, Tobias and I. But through it all, we realized that we are the only people we want. If we hurt each other again, if we abandon each other again, then we will end up returning anyway. The world is not worth living in without him, and nobody else could make it that way for me.

Christina nods along, zipping her makeup bag shut. "I hope so," she declares. "You deserve it."

* * *

TOBIAS POV

The apartment door clicks open, signaling Tris's arrival, and I stay seated on my bed, silently seething as I skim my scabbed knuckles.

"Hey," she says, and even with my back to her, I can hear the smile in her voice. And more than anything, I want to forget my anger and take it up with her another day. Last night was incredible, and it shouldn't be marred by our impending argument.

But I refuse to be put through this again. No more lies, that is what we promised each other. It is what drove a spiked wedge in between us before, and she has already thrown it out the window. If I don't deal with this accordingly, right now, then I will never be able to get through to her that this is unacceptable.

"Tris," I begin levelly, standing to face her. "We need to talk."

Her facade drops when she hears the gruffness of my voice. She approaches me carefully, with noiseless steps.

"Is something wrong?" she asks innocently, and I can't believe how ignorant she is about circumstances and other people's feelings sometimes.

"Why didn't you tell me that you were attacked at the chasm last night?" I blurt out.

She freezes at the reminder that she held that information back from me. Searching for an answer, she eventually comes up with the excuse of, "I haven't really gotten a chance to talk to you today."

"We talked during patrolling."

Sarcasm is evident in her voice. "Because that's a great time to bring it up, right in public, in front of the other initiates and—"

I scoff. "Well, Uriah had no trouble telling me."

The incident casually came up in the conversation we were having; he had brought up Tris and asked me how she was holding up. Of course, I was oblivious to his meaning, though I soon found out that she had deceived me only minutes before by leaving me in the dark when she had the opportunity to tell me.

"You could have died," I snap. "You were almost thrown a hundred feet down into the chasm, and you didn't think that I should know?!"

It was not an hour after we had made love that she nearly plummeted down into the rocky crevice. And what was I doing? Sleeping, when I should have followed my own idea and escorted her safely to the dormitory.

"I was going to tell you!" she exclaims. "Besides that one opportunity I had, in public where you would have likely flipped, I haven't had another chance. I was going to talk to you about it when I got here."

I roll my eyes. I don't have proof if she would have been honest with me or not, but the fact that she is pinning the blame on a dramatic reaction that I didn't have is absurd. "Is that how you see me, as some unstable maniac who can't control his emotions?"

"Did I say that?" she says, exasperated. Her posture sags. "You're exaggerating, Tobias. It's out of the way and done now. Can you calm down?"

Maybe I should. Maybe I shouldn't blow this out of proportion. But there is another lie that I have forgotten about, and recalling it digs up unexpressed fury.

"No," I refuse. "No, actually, I can't calm down. You promised me that you wouldn't keep secrets just days ago! And then you kept this from me, and the bruise."

Tris gulps but still tries to cover up for herself. "What bruise?"

"I'm not an idiot. I know the difference between you tripping and slamming your face into something versus the mark left behind by someone's hand." I did not want to ruin our moment last night, and while I am glad that I didn't, that doesn't mean I ignored the fact that somebody hit her.

A troubled look crosses her face before she tries to turn away. I catch her arm and say in a warning tone, "Tris. Who did it?"

Her stormy eyes slide shut as she mentions the name that I would least expect. "Marcus."

Marcus. My father, who used to lash my back with his belt to make me a better son. My father, who chucked my mother into the living room walls. My father, who mentally abused me so harshly that I am still disordered, hit Tris. As a cowardly man, where does he get the balls?

Taking another look at the light bruise on her cheekbone, I have to fist my hands to conceal how forcefully I am shaking. Outraged, I storm toward the door, muttering, "I'm going to kill him."

"No, you're not," Tris snaps. She snatches my wrist before I can make it more than two steps. "See, this is exactly why I didn't tell you. You don't think straight when it comes to him, and right now I need you to because that momentary slap across the face is the least of our worries."

She has a point. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I focus on reigning in my anger. "How did you even come across him anyway?" I spit.

"He cornered me while I was patrolling. He threatened me, said he knew that we broke into Candor and would go to them if we didn't erase all evidence of his domestic abuse in the system."

I huff at the irony. "After all this time, his power is still his main priority..."

"I don't care about that!" she bursts out. "He could turn us in at a moment's notice!"

Pondering the warning, I come to a resolution. "He won't. Before he would do that, he would at least try to steal it back for himself. But going to Candor would eliminate his chance of being cleared and back in the government."

She purses her lips. "I agree, but there's still that possibility..."

I shake my head and wave her off. Sometimes I think she takes Marcus too seriously when it is clear that the man is a psychopath. I would know that better than anyone; I was at the other end of it for far too long.

"Back to what happened at the chasm last night," I say. "Do you have any idea who it was? Did you see their face, clothes...?"

"No. The only hint I got was when he said, 'This is for sticking your nose where it doesn't belong.'"

The only conclusion I can arrive at from that statement is that he somehow knows about the investigation we are conducting, and somehow he is involved in the suicides and is trying to cover his ass. But that is impossible; how could someone have found out what we are researching? I consider Marcus's knowledge of our crime, but the fact that he doesn't know what we were after eliminates him from a possible list of suspects.

Now I notice how tired Tris is, with the mauve circles under her eyes that have become permanent over the course of the last few weeks. Because of my temper, I haven't taken the time to make sure she is okay. The whole ordeal must have taken a toll on her, and I doubt she slept much last night if at all.

But now is not the time to be caring. Now is the time to straighten things out before it is too late for us. Again.

"Someone knows that we're onto them," I remark. Once I realize that I cannot figure out who without more indication, I sigh and return my attention back to her. "Anything else you need to tell me?"

"What do you mean?" she warily asks.

"Well, that's two major things you have hidden from me so far," I accuse. "So if there's anything else, you might as well get it out now. I'm not putting up with this again."

Tris lets out a humorless laugh that makes her nose scrunch up in a way I would usually find adorable, though she is anything but in this moment. She sinks down onto my bed, her exhaustion catching up with her. "You're such a hypocrite, Tobias."

"While I did keep one secret to myself during the war—which pertained to my mother and I—your falsehoods and deceptions are the main reason we couldn't be together. Don't try to downplay your role."

I have always been one to blame myself, but I couldn't dump even half of the fault on me. The things she did, the way she acted...I know she was suffering, but she made me pay too. Dragging me down into the abyss with her, using my love for her to keep us attached until I had had enough.

"Don't try to downplay yours! I was driven mad last year, we can both agree. But you weren't exactly helpful through it all!" she criticizes.

I grit my teeth, my mood diving straight back down into the depths of rage. "Oh yeah? Like the time I coddled you before I was about to go straight into battle, unbeknownst that you were working behind my back on yet another suicide mission? Like the times I held you after your nightmares while you sobbed over the friend you didn't tell me you killed? Like—"

"Like how you then threw Will back into my face when I finally did tell you?" she shouts, rising again and pointing a condemning finger at me. "Like how you threatened to abandon me when Shauna was shot? Which you eventually did—"

Uncaringly, I interrupt her with a raised voice. "Because you never abandoned me, did you?"

"Well, why would I want to stay with someone who treats me like a naive child?!"

It is the lowest blow she could have delivered. Even if we aren't both thinking rationally right now, she could have said anything else. That she was sorry, that it is in the past. Instead, she chose the most harmful path: turning it against me.

She is pinning the blame on me for the fact that she sacrificed herself to Erudite after we made love for the first time. She is telling me that it was a fault in _me_ that caused her to leave me feeling degraded and used, something that I haven't recovered from emotionally.

"Fuck you!" I spit, the words flying out of my mouth of their own volition. It is the only defense I can use. I have never directed my foul mouth at her, nor did I ever believe I would.

She scoffs, horrified, "Excuse me?!"

I stomp past her to get to my bed, ripping the quilt off of it along with a pillow. "You heard me!"

"What the hell is wrong with—"

"With me? Absolutely nothing," I state nonchalantly. Collapsing onto the couch, I continue, "Just know that I will never forgive you for what you did that night. And you just tore open that wound. I hope you're happy."

A relenting sigh escapes her. "Tobias—" But I don't want her false apologies.

"Shut up, go to bed. I think you've said enough damaging words for tonight." I shut my eyes stubbornly and effectively end the argument.

Soon after, I hear her shuffling around, flipping the light off and crawling under the sheets on my bed. I stretch my legs out on the couch and try to get comfortable until the fury dissipates enough to let me rest.

I don't know where we will go from here. Many of the secrets she has obscured from me in the past few days are now out in the open, but does that matter now? It doesn't change anything that she told me because I had to coax it all out of her; I shouldn't have to. Nevertheless, the words that spewed from her mouth were unbelievable, and if she wants to patch things up, then she is going to have a grueling time doing it.

This will not happen again.

* * *

TRIS POV

I wake up shivering, curled up underneath the thin sheets that do nothing to keep out the chill of the cool air blowing through the apartment. Tobias isn't next to me—it isn't like I expected him to be—instead keeping to his position on the couch, as far away as he could possibly be without leaving.

My mind recalls the feud that we had, and how I, a total imbecile, said deleterious words about a subject that he is still wrestling with to this day. I don't even care about the language he used anymore; I obviously stabbed him long ago, and rather than removing the knife, I twisted it.

Thinking about how we may not recover from this, from my doltish actions, causes a cold tear to run down my cheek. No. I refuse to let this be the end of us.

Feeling needy and alone and still freezing, I rise from the bed, tiptoeing over to the couch, where Tobias is sprawled out on his stomach. The blue quilt spread across his back calls to me, and I slip under it, lying on top of him. I feel him take a deep, waking breath from beneath me, and I suddenly worry that this was a mistake, that he will throw me off in irritation. But I just need to be close to him right now.

Tobias begins turning over, so I assist him in moving us both so that I can lie on his chest. He sighs when I am comfortably settled into his chest, our legs tangled, with the couch somehow holding both of us despite the small width.

And I don't need to say I'm sorry right now; that could start another quarrel, and he must already know that I regret what I said. I sniffle on accident, revealing the fact that I was momentarily overcome with emotion, and it is enough to make him wrap his arms around me and tuck me into the space between his neck and shoulder.

Our troubled past continues to haunt us to this day, instigating repressed outbursts and making us fall into old, foolish habits. It isn't now that we are operating in, when it should be, since these are different times. So I vow then and there, in the comfort of the dark and the warm quilt and the boy beneath me, that I will never lie to him again.


	20. Chapter 19

TRIS POV

"Ready?"

Lauren stands over me, a syringe in hand. Tobias meets my eyes from across the fear landscape room, silently giving me the encouragement I need with a simple nod. Things may be precarious between us right now, but at least he is willing to set aside our grievances for the moment I need him most.

Because this moment will determine my fate in Dauntless for the rest of my life this time. Passing the final test shouldn't be this nerve-wracking for me, as I have completed it before, but I am not eager to deal with any more turmoil, however fake.

"Yes," I say.

The needle jabs into my neck, and I bite my tongue to direct the pain to another place. Next to me, the leaders prepare to watch my full fear landscape, and I let out a heavy breath to relax myself. Hunter's gaze sets me on edge anyway.

My heart starts pounding. The dank room fades, and the spray-painted words on the wall across from me morph into different ones as my vision fails me:

_Be brave_.

* * *

Facing the crows makes me panic every time, since I am usually unable to fight back by using my Divergence. This time though, I am allowed to be aware, so I reach down through the thick undergrowth and pull out a gun. It is still challenging to pull the trigger, but it is not so hard when I realize how much I hate these feathered animals, how my only alternative is to let them peck and suffocate me.

The simulation shifts. I am in a water tank, just like the one that I used to be trapped in in simulations, just like the one that Jeanine constructed for me to drown in for the sole purpose of gathering data. I bang on the glass walls, soon realizing how idiotic it is to waste my energy every time. So I let the tank fill up completely before I try again, slamming my palm into the wall until I see a crack, until it shatters.

These fears are effortless; I have faced them each before with the same results. They are phobias, not genuine horrors.

Then, the real ones set in.

I once again find myself in a field, at the top of a pile of logs, bound to a stake. But this time, instead of Peter and his companions, the familiar faces in front of me are of those whom I have killed.

My mother, or a sinister version of her, holds the torch. My father pours gasoline at the base. Will and Al shovel more wood onto the pile. And Marlene watches, though she doesn't have a face to watch; her blonde hair is the only thing recognizable, since her face has been splattered into a gruesome image by jumping off a building.

"I will forget the ones I love if I do not serve them," my mother quotes.

I recognize the line. It is from the Abnegation manifesto.

Before I have time to question the meaning, she steps forward and lights the wood on fire. The flames burn around me, reaching upward and outward, until they lick my ankles.

With tears in my eyes, I say, "I'm sorry. But I don't deserve to die because I couldn't save you."

The admittance is a relief, something I would not have been able to think let alone say aloud in the real world. At my words, raindrops begin to fall from the sky, dousing the fires and relieving the burns I have acquired.

The scene disappears. I wipe away the moisture from my cheeks and stand, ready to face the next obstacle.

I turn around. A handgun appears on a table in front of me.

I gulp, having a notion of what this next fear will be. It will involve killing someone, which I somehow find worse with a gun. Although I didn't kill Eric, my goal was to see the life leave his appalling eyes when I stabbed him in Candor; I don't know why being up close and drawing out death is less frightening to me than a tool that could quickly and painlessly take a life if aimed right.

Gathering some strength but leaving some untouched for my other fears to come, I pick up the cold weapon. Something to the side catches my eye, and I see that it is a faceless Abnegation woman. Maybe that should make this less demanding. She isn't really human, after all. She doesn't have eyes that will drain when I shoot her, or a mouth that will tremble.

"Do it," a robotic voice orders.

But when I raise the gun, my hands start shaking as they commonly do. Will I ever move past this silly, inconvenient dread to hold a gun? What if I come across a situation where I need that willpower; will I freeze up like I did in Amity, when Caleb saved my life because I was too distracted to?

"Do it," the voice hisses again.

If it came down to it, maybe I would be able to defend myself, or take a life in general. But I don't need to cause myself any more unwanted distress by murdering an innocent person in a simulation. It isn't worth it.

So I take the bullet that comes for me instead, sacrificing my life in the way Tobias used to chastise me for.

The room blacks out. Before I can do more than prepare for my worst fear, the one where my friends and family scream for me to save them, I am suddenly in an Abnegation home. I blink again, and I am in the hallway upstairs, standing in front of the mirror. My mother trims my hair behind me.

Confused, I dart my eyes around for some kind of imaginary demon to pop out. Nothing happens though, and I am left to wonder why such a pleasant memory would be in my fear landscape. Seeing my mother again, even in an image produced by my brain, is bittersweet.

Glancing down at my clothes, I see myself in a gray dress. When I look into the mirror, I am unable to tear my eyes away, for I have short hair again, and I am dressed in Dauntless black. My eyes are rimmed with red from extreme lack of sleep, and my face lacks all emotion, except for a grim frown.

"Look at you...I didn't raise you to be this way, Beatrice," my mother says sadly, apologetically, when she meets my eyes in the mirror. She is not the false woman who burned me at the stake just minutes ago, but my real mother, clad in stifling clothes yet wearing a warm smile.

She combs my hair back. "I'm sorry to say that I can't be proud of the choices you have made."

It is impossible to swallow now. Oh, I understand. My fear is not living up to her image, her expectations, her wise example. Everything about her is convincingly deceptive, down to her mannerisms. That is why it is so difficult for me to brush off her meaningless, sim-generated words.

"I'm sorry too," I admit, and I can't stop the tears from flowing. She looks so _real_. "I miss you, Mom."

"I miss you too. The real you. Who you are right now is a monster; you have murdered and betrayed. You have been selfish."

I nod in agreement, my eyes slipping shut as a sob escapes me. She is right, and it doesn't matter how fake this is. Luckily, that thought directs the simulation into a more positive outlook, based on how my mother would really speak to me if she were here.

"But that doesn't mean that you can't try to be better now, and it doesn't mean that I don't love you."

Forgetting that I am being influenced by a serum, I cry and embrace her. She smells like soap and evenings of sewing by the fire, and the way she holds me reminds me of when she used to tuck me in at night. Sometimes the gaping hole inside of me is consuming enough that I forget about who and what I am missing, and when I remember my parents it is challenging to not cling to their memory.

All too soon, my mother vanishes. I am left to sob to myself, alone, as I grieve for her as I find myself doing periodically. The fear of failure lingers, and I wonder if she would be proud of who I am; I wonder if she would still reflect on the horrifying mistakes I have made instead of the choices I am making now.

Maybe the past doesn't matter as long as you fight to be a better person.

Wiping the tears away, I straighten, ready to face my last fear.

* * *

It was unspoken but understood that Tobias wanted me to meet him so we could discuss our dispute that happened two nights ago. We haven't spoken since, anyway, and I think this has been enough time for both of us to blow off steam. So I head for his apartment right after my final test, not bothering to stop for a meal which I could eat later.

He is obviously still in the fear landscape room, transferring the leaders' observations into actual scores that will be announced at dinner time. I kick off my shoes and sit down on his bed, where just yesterday morning he laid me down before he stalked out the door, avoiding another argument like the night before.

I sigh. With wishful thinking, maybe I can avoid any more conflict with him, but I know how quickly his moods shift, like clouds rolling in and signaling a storm.

The day catches up with me as I sit atop the mattress. Unable to face him without some form of rest, I curl up on his patchwork quilt and inhale his scent as I try to catch a quick nap.

"Tris?"

My eyes drag open to find Tobias sitting on the edge of the bed. I feel his hand on my hip, warm and steady. Maybe this dreaded conversation won't be too bad.

"Hi," I say groggily, because I don't know how else to approach him.

"You did well on your test," he starts. Apparently he doesn't know how, either. "It took you less than twenty minutes."

"That's good to know."

With a lull in the conversation, he removes his hand and sets it in his lap. When he notices me staring, he sighs.

"I don't blame you for not telling me about Marcus," he admits. "I do have a hard time controlling my anger whenever he is involved, and you knew that I would take it too far when I found out that he hurt you. That being said, you still need to be honest with me."

I nod in complete concurrence. "You're right. I need to be able to trust you like you are trusting me. It's unfair of me to keep things from you, no matter what it is," I remark.

"Also," he continues on, his eyes lowered, "I don't want to keep returning to the same mistakes we made during the war. We seem to gravitate toward blaming each other for past experiences, but I'm so tired of living in that time period."

I am glad that he sees exactly what I see in this scenario. "Nothing good can come from us looking backward. I agree."

"One last thing." Tobias flashes me a minuscule smile, like he knows that I am getting irritated at his unwillingness to let me participate in this discussion. "I'm sorry for swearing like I did at you. It sounds stupid that I would apologize for something so small after what we both did." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry for a lot of things, but specifically, I should have never directed that foul language at you. While I do swear on occasion, it is wrong to use those words as a weapon against you, and I hope you can forgive me for that."

At the end of his heartfelt apology, sympathy flows through me. No, he is wrong. I was the one who sparked this whole issue, and I was the one who ended it in a way that left us both extremely discontented. He should not be asking for forgiveness from me; it should be the opposite.

"Tobias..." I sit up in the bed, pressed against his side. "You shouldn't be pinning any of the blame on yourself. It was my fault that I was dishonest, knowing full well where that gets us every time. It was my fault that I hit your weak spot—which I am aware you haven't recovered from," I tell him. And though my pride attempts to stifle my words, they come out anyway. "I'm sorry. You had every right to be upset with me."

His hand reaches around and plants itself on my side again. "I appreciate that. And I don't want to go over it again, okay?" he murmurs. "We're both sorry. That's all we need to know. It's not worth it to rehash this."

After a pause, I rest my head on his shoulder and laugh, "We're not very good at this communication thing, are we?"

"We'll figure it out eventually."

_Eventually_. Sometimes I forget that my time with him is limitless now that I will officially be a member of Dauntless. I don't know whether that should frighten me or soothe me.

Which reminds me—the final rankings are being posted tonight. "Can you tell me what place I got?" I ask, sitting up with sudden interest. It doesn't matter if Uriah beat me or not, but it is something I can hold over his head in the time to come if he didn't. After all, he has been teasing me about how he is supposedly going to keep his place in the first slot.

Tobias masks a smile. "That would be unfair to the other initiates, Tris," he deadpans.

I roll my eyes. "Oh, come on. It's not like I can change it now!"

"You'll find out later," he assures me. "But I can tell you that you passed."

"No, really?" I exclaim with mock surprise.

He relaxes back into the bed with a chuckle, his feet still touching the floor. I admire the way his Adam's apple bobs from the low vibrations, and how his teeth glean in the evening light pouring in the windows. With a burst of emotion—I did almost lose him over an idiotic argument—I lean down over him and place my lips on his.

My hair forms a golden curtain around us, our own little enclosed world where nobody can interrupt us. Our fingers interlock against the bed, our kisses staying controlled and not shifting into anything remotely near the heavy ones that led to something much more a few days ago. His nose slides against mine when I pull away, and there is something intimate about the way we press our cheeks together afterwards and just lie there in our strange position.

After a few breaths, Tobias slips out from under me and beckons to me to follow him up to the pillows on the bed. There I settle back, snug, into his side.

"Did your fear landscape change?" he asks curiously.

"Yes and no." I still can't make sense of some of it. "I'm still afraid of the crows, drowning in a tank, and burning at the stake, except the people whose deaths I blame on myself are the ones lighting me on fire. And I picked up new fears: disappointing my mother, shooting someone, and well...my worst fear," I ramble, because there is no way to really describe it without seeing it, which he has.

He hums. "You're officially Six this time, then," he points out playfully. It reminds me that he isn't my harsh instructor anymore.

"Four and Six," I prompt him. I can't believe it has been a year since we had that conversation; that seems too short, like it has been a much longer timespan between war and heartache.

"I hate to ruin the mood," he says, and his lips turn downward, "but I need to talk to you about something. I don't know if you have heard—I hadn't checked the news in a week—but seven more people have committed suicide."

"_Seven_?" I gasp, horrified. I try to sit up, but his steady grip keeps me in place. "That's what—fifteen now? In less than a month."

"It's getting out of hand, fast. People are speculating that we might have to go into some kind of lockdown until it's stopped."

The idea makes me uneasy, yet it is a much better alternative than another war. That is, unless things became out of hand, which I could see happening.

"I think we should go to Erudite soon," he declares solemnly. "Break in, steal whatever information they have on that serum."

I shake my head, not wanting to go through with the risky plan. "That would be extremely dangerous. And besides, we don't even know where that information would be in the first place, let alone how to navigate Erudite."

I don't even remember the paths I took during my time as a prisoner there. It was an awful, white maze with no promise of escape.

"I'll message Cara," he offers. "She can meet us and give us information on the inside and any gadgets that we might need."

My face scrunches up with distrust. "I don't know how I feel about telling her," I say. "She only helped us when she fled Erudite because of its obvious corruption. We don't necessarily have any proof that Erudite is specifically behind these attacks." But I don't tell him the real reason I don't find her trustworthy: I am still the person who killed her brother. That fact will not disappear because we once partnered up for a life-threatening mission to salvage information.

"I'll keep it vague. Just...trust me?"

At those words, I can't help but put my faith in him. He hasn't led us astray before in wartime.

"Okay," I murmur, burying my face in his neck and closing my eyes, letting the conversation drop.

* * *

TOBIAS POV

This year, the dining hall is crammed with more people than ever before to celebrate our new members. They are our future, and with so many members lost last year, I think everyone knows the underlying importance of gaining more soldiers.

I glance over at Tris a few seats down. She wears a content expression as she awaits for the rankings to be announced. We spent the evening dozing and then later dining in my apartment, and although being in those confines didn't make the time any less enjoyable, I am still pleased that we won't have to hide in a few minutes.

"Hey, stop staring at your girlfriend and pay me attention!"

Zeke watches me with a smug grin, and I narrow my eyes, annoyed.

"Did Uriah win this year?" he asks avidly. "We have a bet going on."

"You can't wait five minutes to find out?" I say. Regardless, my lips are sealed. I even made Tris wait for the results.

Begrudgingly, he huffs and returns to eating his chocolate cake. I eye it greedily before I ask, "Just out of curiosity, did you bet that he would fail?"

"No, he did." Pursing his lips, he adds, "The kid is still hard on himself a lot."

"He did lose his two best friends pretty recently," I remind him somberly.

"I know, but he has always been so bubbly. He isn't constantly smiling now, and even though that might sound like I'm overanalyzing, it is out of character for him." Zeke's face contorts when he states, "Sometimes, I worry that the people we hear about in the news might influence him to hurt himself."

It reminds me that people in line like him around the city don't question what is broadcasted. He doesn't know that the suicides aren't committed by the victims. From his perspective, it is a chain concept where it takes a hold of people with leftover grief from the war.

Adamantly, I shake my head. "No. I refuse to believe that Uriah would do something like that. But...if you are seriously worried about this, then I'll keep an eye out for you." Because who really knows what is going on in his life?

"Thanks, man." Zeke reaches over and slaps my shoulder.

Before long, Hunter takes his place on the balcony that overlooks the dining hall, giving some false speech about Dauntless teachings and values that are no longer a priority. The initiates hold their breaths as they stare at the large, flat screen on the wall where the rankings are posted from the top down.

Tris's photo is revealed first, since she came in said spot. She flashes me an ecstatic smile at her accomplishment, and then I turn my head to scan the list of names to make sure everything seems to be in order.

_1\. Tris_

_2\. Uriah_

_3\. Peter_

_4\. Justin_

_5\. Derek_

_6\. Christina_

Several tables over, Jessica high-fives Peter in spite of her rank decreasing since the first stage. Tris's friend, Dez, is jumping up and down while shrieking with excitement. The groans of the many who didn't make the top fifty cannot be heard over the louder, proud hollers echoing through the dining hall.

Somehow, I make it to Tris in the sea of congratulations. She is surrounded by and laughing with her friends, and when she sees me approaching, she can barely contain her elation.

"You think giving you a hug would give away too much?" I quip.

Instead of firing back with her line, she just says, "Come here," and wraps her arms around my neck before she kisses me.

Catcalls erupt, both from our friends and random onlookers. I am slightly sheepish yet unable to pull away from her lips because they are sweet like chocolate—just when I thought the taste of Dauntless cake couldn't get any better.

"Get some!" Uriah shouts, and we pull away with a shared laugh.

"I love you," I murmur in her ear when I pull her into a tight hug. "I'm proud of you."

The Stiff—my Stiff—has taken first place once again, proving it wasn't luck that put her on top the first time, though I'm not sure who would have doubted her score anyway.

Her cheeks tint pink at my compliment. She moves on from it, taking my hand and saying, "Let's go celebrate."

When I notice that she is leading me through the crowds in the Pit, I ask, "Where are we going?"

She slows her strides. "We're meeting our friends somewhere."

"Where?"

I receive my answer as soon as I hear the loud music thumping from a large opening in the stone walls of the Pit. Multicolored lights flicker inside to the beat of the current song, and the people inside dance uncoordinatedly or drunkenly sing along.

"Tris..." I try to back out as we are entering. A nightclub isn't my kind of place, nor hers.

"Come on, it will be fun," she urges, and I can't say no.

It turns out that it isn't as dreadful as I imagined it would be. Some time passes before I am used to the hectic movements in the mostly dark atmosphere and the sweaty people crying out as they party. Then Tris and I join in with the group, getting jolted into action by the combined excitement.

Neither of us can dance so we don't try to. Instead we copy those around us as they jump up and down shamelessly to the heavy music. We laugh at each other's mistakes and trust the other bodies to conceal them. Fortunately, I catch glimpses of our friends from afar, where they cannot see us well enough to tease us later.

The high lasts hours, only with breaks to talk in between songs. Sometimes, like now, the thumping tune is unhurried, slow enough that we sway to it together. With a fleeting moment where the light reflects off her smiling eyes, I am able to see their true color:

Blue.

When I met Tris, when I fell in love with her, they were that same penetrating blue. As time passed and the world shifted into something sinister, they morphed into a faded silver. Since then, I have caught moments where they do resemble azure, and they were only when she was beyond happiness.

I want her eyes to always be blue.

I want to share that bliss with her. I want to reclaim the stolen moments where we were allowed to be teenagers. I want to spend years making up for the lost time.

Because as much as we forget it, we are still young. We have our whole lives ahead of us, and those days cannot all be wasted with despair.

_Maybe one day_, I think when she rests her head on my shoulder. _Maybe one day war will be the last thing on our minds; it will bow to us._

* * *

**Thanks so much for the reviews and your support!**


	21. Chapter 20

TOBIAS POV

Today is the long awaited day.

Yawning, I enter the dormitory, planning on finding Tris in case she needs assistance in moving her items to my apartment. I figure that she has bare necessities only—like clothes, since Abnegation teachings are so engraved into us—but it wouldn't hurt to offer some help.

Most of the initiates have cleared out of this cavern that they have lived in for a month. Most of them, except for Christina and Dez, who apparently have yet to settle in their apartment. They are the only people in the dorms.

"Where's Tris?" I ask, not offering any greetings. To me and to them, I will always be their instructor. Maybe it won't be that way forever, but for now treating them as anything more than subordinates is out of the ordinary for me, despite their relationship to my girlfriend.

"Oh, 'hi' to you too, Four," Christina snarks.

I fold my arms, not in the mood for her smart-ass remarks. In any other circumstance I would just walk away, but I don't know where Tris is; after being trapped in the control room all day for my official first day back at work, I got off at dinnertime and didn't happen to run into her.

Christina rolls her eyes. "She said she was going to move in with you today. She took all of her stuff with her."

My apartment would have been an obvious choice, though I didn't want to take any chances and end up having to leave the apartment wing to search for her.

"Thanks," I say stiffly and leave.

Upon arriving at my flat, I turn the doorknob and find that it is unlocked. Tris must be here in that case. When I see her figure standing next to my bed in my peripheral vision, I start talking.

"Hey," I greet her, bending over to untie and remove my shoes. "Did you get all of your stuff? I didn't see anything else down in the dorms..."

I trail off when I actually look at her. Beneath her lengthy hair, her shoulders are sagged, indicating a downturn in her mood. Strange, since she seemed fine this morning.

"Tris, is something wrong?"

With a sniffle, she turns to face me, though she keeps her eyes trained down. In her hands is my handgun that I keep inside my nightstand drawer.

"Tris, what are you doing with my gun?" I ask carefully. How did she even know where to find it?

Stoically, she answers, "I...need it."

"For what?"

This is the wrong reply, because she wraps her fingers around it and raises it to her temple with determination.

My breath catches in my throat, and I decide to wisely not make any sudden movements that might trigger her. Instead of figuring out why in the world she is attempting suicide, I quickly narrow down my options.

She is too far away for me to lunge at her; I wouldn't get there in time. There is no real other way to disarm her, except...

Discreetly, I reach down into my pocket for my pocketknife, fully prepared to throw it at her wrist. I don't want to hurt her, but it is a better alternative than letting her die.

Her face is pale and her hair is dull, stuck to her cheeks because of the tears. Desolation flashes back at me in her expression, but that is not the part about it that catches my attention. More importantly, I notice that her eyes are glossed over, almost like she is under a simulation.

That is when it hits me: she has been injected by the suicide serum.

"I can't do this anymore," she whispers, her voice cracking.

"Tris," I mutter calmly, making a stopping gesture with my hand. "Put the gun down, and we can talk about this."

She shakes her head. "I've made my decision. I've wanted this for a long time."

Obviously I don't want to give her a push off the edge, but I need to be frank with her. "No, you don't. Someone injected you with the serum, and it is warping your mind so you think you want that."

"No it isn't!" she cries out. For a split second I am sure that she is going to pull the trigger, and my heart throbs unbelievably fast, but my fingers hesitate as she continues. "This is me talking. I have had to live this life for too long, and it's time that I left this world."

"Tris..." My eyes plead with her not to make this asinine mistake. If I lose her to some serum...

No, I won't. She is Divergent. I have seen her shatter glass with her palm and avoid becoming a mindless soldier like the rest of the faction with her strong willpower. If she can make those miracles happen, she can resist this powerful urge to take her life.

But then again, she has had thoughts like this before, so that could affect her ability to use logic.

"All I do is hurt the people around me. I've even hurt you, the person I love the most."

I say gently, "And I've hurt you. But that doesn't mean either of us deserves to die."

She whimpers, her resolve failing as the hand that holds the gun trembles, and I know that I have broken through her barrier of angst. All it will take to take the gun from her is some simple coaxing from here.

"I love you," I remind her, and she chokes on another sob. "Don't do this. Just give me the gun, and we can talk about this."

When I hold out my hand for the weapon, she gives in to my demand. Just as she trusted me last time—after pointing a gun at my chest during training a few weeks ago—she places the pistol into my outstretched palm.

My fingers relax their grip on the knife, letting it drop back into my pocket. With a heavy, relieved breath, I toss the gun onto the bed next to us and pull her into my arms in an unyielding embrace. Tris clutches onto me and wails into my shoulder, the crushing emotions stirring inside her too much to bear alone.

Now that I can dwell on my own emotions, I realize that I could have permanently lost her in this moment. Our time together flashes through my mind, and it is the shock I need to frame her face in my hands and kiss her. Uncharacteristically, heat swells beneath my eyelids, but I reel myself in and resist the temptation to cry. She is in serious need of support, and I can't give it to her if I am a wreck myself.

"Shhh, you're okay," I reassure her, burying a hand in her hair. My gaze lands on the gun that almost claimed her life and decide that for the time being, it should be in a place that she is unable to get to, just as a precaution.

After persuading her to lie down and take some deep breaths, I deposit the gun on top of the refrigerator, standing on my toes to slide it to the very back. This way, she won't be able to reach it unless she goes to the trouble of grabbing a chair, which would definitely get my attention and let me stop her in time. I have a silent debate with myself before I set my pocketknife there too.

Tris is clearly miserable, tucked up on my bed and hugging herself. I'm not sure how long the serum is supposed to last, but it sends pangs through me, helplessly watching her suffer for an unknown timespan.

"I'm so depressed," she chokes out. "I've never felt like this, not even when I cut myself."

I sigh sympathetically and crouch in front of her. "What can I do to help?" I ask. There is no real way to fix this though.

And she agrees. She shrugs and buries her face in a pillow, hiccups escaping her as I rub her back.

"You could try to sleep it off," I suggest. It isn't totally nighttime yet, but the evening sun is already painting the sky a brilliant orange. I can imagine how drained she is from this catharsis. And if I am being honest, this has been a trying day for me too. Still, the idea of her sneaking away while I sleep is enough to convince me that I should keep an eye on her all night.

She shakes her head. "No," is her answer. "I don't think I can right now. Too much is running through my head."

"Well, at least try to get comfortable." Maybe it will wind her down if she relaxes.

Without waiting for her reply, I unbutton her tight training pants and pull them off her legs with some effort. She acts like nothing happened, not acknowledging me or assisting me in undressing her.

"Do you want my shirt?" I ask, knowing how much she likes to steal them.

At her weak nod, I remove my jacket and then my black t-shirt. I give her some privacy to change into it, opting for switching my pants out for some sweatpants in the meantime. Then I settle down in the bed next to her. Despite her lazy struggling, I trap her in my arms and tangle my legs with hers so she has no hope of extricating herself.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Tris tenses again and mumbles, "Not really."

"Okay." There is no point in pushing her. However, it is necessary to get other information out of her. "Did you see who injected you?"

"I don't know. If I'm being honest, I don't remember it happening at all."

I suppose that makes sense. The other suicide victims had not doubted their reasons for taking their own lives—not even recalling the fact that they were injected by an assailant—instead committing the act without hesitation or regret. It is strange to see the situation through their eyes now, whereas before I hadn't thought twice about how gut-wrenching it must have felt. With someone so close to me dealing with this, I am seeing it in another light.

"The same group who made sure you got attacked at the chasm, who wanted vengeance for you getting involved in their affairs, must have injected you," I deduce. It is all falling into place. Now we just need to figure out who it is in the first place.

Tris doesn't care for my words. She finds stability by holding onto the arms that are binding her, and I suddenly notice how frigid her stark pale skin is to the touch.

"You're cold," I point out.

"Does it matter?" she croaks out past the grief.

Instead of retorting, I reach down and cover us both up with the quilt at the bottom of the bed. With that taken care of, some tension seems to dissipate from her body as she fits against me, more pliable now.

"I can barely breathe," she admits, "and every mistake I have ever made is returning and being exaggerated to the point where it feels like I have killed everybody but myself."

This whole circumstance is out of the ordinary, and at this point I am powerless to lift her spirits up. What am I supposed to do, say sorry? Say that she is wrong? She isn't herself, so how do I handle this when a practical stranger needs my consolation?

Maybe that is my problem: I am holding her at arms' length instead of treating her like a lover.

Forcing her to turn over, I place my lips on her forehead and listen to her expel her pain.

"It feels like I am utterly alone and bearing a weight that is ten times my capacity to handle."

"You're not alone," I contradict her. "I'm right here."

I kiss the tears off her blotchy cheeks as she focuses on simply breathing. Her lips brush against mine when she whispers, "I want to die."

The statement regrettably reminds me of her suicidal tendencies after her parents died. It thrusts the knowledge that she once had these thoughts—that they aren't just appearing out of thin air—upon me. I won't let her succumb to them again, either.

She retreats before I can kiss her. "Too bad. I'm keeping you around anyway."

Tris half-heartedly shoves my chest in a pathetic effort to put distance between us. I just pull her right back into my embrace.

"Life isn't so bad, you know," I try to convince her.

Her eyes that were filled with melancholy not a second ago harden into that defiance I love. "Really? Then what is worth living for? Because other than death and destruction, I have yet to see what else life has to offer."

It is difficult to disagree with her in some ways. I had the same mindset not too long ago. But then she fell—literally—back into my life, and now each agonizing day doesn't mindlessly blur into the next.

"I can think of some things," I say vaguely.

"Like what?" she challenges.

"Love. Family." But those seem too broad, and I never had a family anyway. I narrow them down for her. "For me specifically, you. Would you really want to lose me?" I am not at all fearful for her response.

"No. But that doesn't mean I still wouldn't kill myself. Sometimes one reason isn't enough to stay alive."

I understand that this last year has taken its toll on her, but she shouldn't view her whole life as tarnished. I ponder my next words to figure out how I want to say what I want to say.

"I think we have taught ourselves to scrutinize life because then when it is taken from someone we know, we are already defended in some way; we can cast it aside as meaningless. But if we don't see any good, then we don't have the ability to appreciate anyone or anything around us in general."

Although the statement is meant for her sake now, it also applies on a normal day. In addition, I believe that both Abnegation and Dauntless have taught us not to see beauty in their own ways. Sometimes, in instances like this, I wish we didn't have factions so that we could embrace all virtues in order to capture that beauty that we might usually miss.

Tris's silence lasts for a while as she fights her inner conflict, her mind battling as both sides. Eventually she recognizes failure in her methods and pleads, "Show me something good. I can't go on like this, with no alleviation. Prove to me that there is still good that I'm not seeing."

With a mischievous smile, I pin her underneath me, lowering my mouth to her neck. Beneath my lips, a low hum vibrates through her throat.

"_This_ is a good thing," I insist, losing myself in my ministrations as I kiss across her collarbone.

"Tobias..."

I chuckle at how her obstinance is challenged by her breathy voice. Bowing my head into her shoulder, I say, "I'm kidding. I wouldn't take advantage of you." Considering I am afraid to let her out of my sight, I would guess that she's not in the right state of mind for _that_ right now.

"Actually, I didn't say no," she clarifies with a glint in her eyes, indicating that she is slowly but surely coming back.

"_Tris_," I warn.

She slides her hand up into my hair. "I need a distraction before I lose my mind." Before I can retreat, she locks her lips onto mine, and I can't deny her at least this. She hasn't broken my resolve yet though.

"Tris, we can't do this right now," I try to explain. What is it with her finding it necessary to kiss me whenever she is under the influence of a serum? At least last time on the peace serum it was laughable, but now...

"Please?" she begs. "Distract me?"

With a mock-begrudging sigh, I comply, running my hand up the back of her shirt—my shirt—as I lower my lips to hers again. I grasp her thigh for more leverage. Her skin is smooth despite the goosebumps that have arisen or were already there before I touched her, I'm not sure, and that decadent touch is the last straw that makes me commit.

Our mouths move together sensually as the air around us shifts from solemn to charged. With confident hands, she reaches to slide my pants down past my hips, and I help her by kicking them off so that they are lost in the sheets. As soon as we manage to remove her shirt, I kiss across her ravens and revel in the moan that escapes her.

And then I proceed to distract her from the angst very well.

* * *

TRIS POV

The train rushes over the tracks, causing air to circulate through the humid car that has been exposed to the sun all day. Tobias, who was just leaning out to let the wind whip at his clothes, closes the door. I frown at the sudden loss of fresh air.

"I thought we should talk, since you're obviously not too enthused about this," he says, sitting down on the dusty floor across from me.

"Well, I've warmed up to the idea," I deadpan. "You know, having that suicidal feeling stuck in my gut for half a night wasn't very pleasant. I want to find out who did it to me."

And breaking in to Erudite is the only way to discover the truth about who is using this suicide serum. However, we cannot do this without extra help from the inside, and I am ironically more worried about that part than the actual action.

"Understandable."

Tobias casually slings his arm across his knee and gives me a sympathetic grin. I have thanked him several times for the way he handled my injection a couple nights ago. Not only was he smart enough to talk me out of taking my own life in the first place, but how he helped me recover was what can only be described as sweet. He stayed up with me until the early hours of dawn, draining the poison from my mind with merely his words. I ended up crying again after we made love, and he didn't judge me, rather folding me back into his comforting arms.

I continue, "But that still doesn't mean I trust Cara."

"Do you trust me?" he asks.

I roll my eyes at his deflection. "Of course I do, but this—"

"I've talked to her. I've read into the situation and her attitude. I really don't think we have any reason to worry."

A concerned breath escapes me. "Okay," I utter, his reassurance doing nothing to stop me from fiddling with my fingers.

He blinks at me in the dark for a moment and bites his lip. At this late hour in the day, I can't help but remember the time we kissed heatedly as the train slid into the night, toward Erudite headquarters where he pointed out their lights. With things going so good between us lately since I moved in with him, I find myself always wanting to be this close to him.

Knocking his leg against mine, he inquires, "Any more ideas on who could be behind this?"

I purse my lips. "Well, where have none of the victims originated from? That's a good place to start, right?"

"Erudite," he states, "Abnegation, factionless..."

Erudite is already a decided culprit. It is bizarre that nobody would attack the Abnegation since so many people seem to have grievances with the government—though maybe a self-rejecting person would be more likely to resist the suicide serum. Nevertheless, it doesn't make sense to me that an Abnegation member would commit murder, especially one of this nature. The factionless are known to cause trouble, but I just don't have an iota of a clue of how all of these groups would connect.

When I notice how Tobias trailed off, I glance at him again to see that his eyebrows are tightened in concentration. "What is it?" I say.

"Something my mother told me."

This floors me. "You talked to your mother?" Why would he willingly converse with someone as deceitful and harmful as his mother? The last time they worked together, she turned on Dauntless, surrounding them with their own guns that they foolishly handed over in Erudite.

He shakes his head vehemently. "No, it wasn't like that," he clarifies. "Over the last year, she has sent me messages through her factionless lackeys to convince me to join her in leading the factionless. I have denied her countless times, but the last time she sent me a note was on the night before the Choosing."

"What did it say?" I ask slowly.

"Something about how the next few weeks would make me reconsider whose side I was on." He pauses to let this sink in. "I don't know if this is related to the suicides, but if it is..."

I don't know what I expect him to say, and I don't think he does either. All I know is that he doesn't deserve the pain written on his unbelieving face. Evelyn has been hurting him ever since she came back into his life, and if she is sending people out to do her dirty work, if she is the reason I was almost killed—twice—then there really is no chance of her salvaging her relationship with her son. I am not sure that relationship is worth saving, or wise for Tobias to accept.

They are mother and son by blood only, certainly not choices. Unless she completely turns over a new leaf, their chances of reconciliation are hopeless. This is coming from someone who has had to find out the rough way how priceless that bond is.

"Maybe not," I suggest optimistically. "That's why we're going to find out, right?"

He nods noncommittally and looks out the back window to see where we are in the city. Rising, he announces, "Time to jump."

Only after we hop off the train do I realize where we are. "We're near the Erudite sector," I say out loud. "Is that a smart idea to be so close?"

"It's safe. There shouldn't be any cameras nearby, and if there are, then they wouldn't be able to catch anything from high up and this late. Besides, I didn't want Cara to have to walk too far, especially since she has to carry some things to our meeting spot."

Pulling his hood up over his head, he walks briskly, and I struggle to keep up on my short legs. We pass cracked roads and old, former school buildings before we see a woman's figure up ahead. In the moonlight, I recognize her perfectly-combed blonde hair that is pinned back. Cara.

I trail behind, unwilling to face her first. Almost exactly a year ago, I took her brother's life without thinking through the jeopardizing situation logically. And considering she values logic, I can't imagine that she has found it in her to absolve me of blame. I don't mind—I don't absolve myself of fault for killing Will—but I don't want it to affect Tobias's wellbeing. She could easily turn us over to the authorities upon hearing of our treasonous plot.

"Thanks for meeting us," Tobias begins.

Cara nods, darting her eyes around the alley before letting them land on me briefly. "You weren't followed?" she checks.

"No."

Clearing her throat, she says, "Hi, Tris." At least she seems to be approaching this diplomatically.

"Hi," I respond in a tight voice, burying my hands in my pockets.

Tobias cuts to the chase. "So, what is the easiest way to get in?"

"I have a way, but it's not easy," Cara admits. "Although I won't ask what you are after, I'm assuming you'll want to gain access to Jeanine's lab? That's where the computer with the most information will be."

We nod simultaneously, and then when I actually think about her words I blurt out, "Wait a minute. Jeanine still has a personal lab?"

Her eyes harden with distaste. "Erudite embraced her with open arms after she was disgraced and sent back. She now practically functions as a leader, pulling the strings from behind the scenes. Everyone still bows down to that despicable woman. So yes, her office is up and running again."

"Where is it?" Tobias questions. "I know the general area, but I'm not sure I would be able to find it again."

Me neither. My relationship ended in that room, and I still wouldn't have faith in myself to locate it in that mammoth building.

"Second to the top floor. But you're not going in the building like that, through the front door and up the elevator. That's imbecilic." When we both stare at her, lost, she sighs. "Look, if you really want to get in without being detected then one of you will have to scale the building and break in the window."

"What?!" Tobias exclaims.

I don't blame him. Considering how tall Erudite is, I don't think even _I _am keen on the idea of climbing up that building. I don't even know how it would be possible.

"With rope, of course." She rolls her eyes at our lack of intelligence and swings her backpack over her shoulder, setting it at her feet. She removes some kind of gun-looking tool with a hook on the end. "Inside the backpack there is more rope that you'll need to take out before you fire it. Just aim it up at the roof, shoot, and then test your weight on it before you climb. There's a harness in here that you'll obviously want to wear too."

Tobias seems conflicted as he watches her stuff it back in the bag. Without asking him, I can already tell that he doesn't want to be the one scaling Erudite because of his fear of heights, but on the other hand, he doesn't want to trust my life with the equipment.

"But as soon as someone breaks the window, an alarm will be set off, right?"

"Correct." Cara tucks her stray hair behind her ears. "That is why the other person will have to crawl in from the air duct outside the building. The vent at the south side next to the generators will take you to the control room if you continue straight through it. Then you can disable the guards with a smoke bomb that will release a serum that will knock them unconscious; I packed a couple in there."

"God, Cara, you didn't have to formulate the whole plan," Tobias says with a nervous laugh. She really has thought of everything. I thought we were only meeting with her for useful gadgets or basic information.

She shrugs. "Well, I have my own grievances with Erudite, more specifically with Jeanine. So whatever you're doing, I'm glad to help." After a brief pause to gather her thoughts, she says, "Anyway, considering the small size of the air shaft, I believe that only Tris would be able to fit."

That means Tobias will unfortunately have to face his fear, although the alternative would be another. He keeps a poker face at the news, but I see the apprehension underneath it.

"Tris, once you're in the control room, you only need to shut down the security in Jeanine's office. There is another control room, and shutting off any others would alert guards."

Mulling over the plan, I find a loophole. "Wait, I've been to Jeanine's lab before," I say. "It releases a serum that makes you fight yourself until poison kicks in. How will Four get past that?"

Killing my own shadow was a struggle I will never forget. It is the first time I had fired a gun—however fake—in a long while, because I was so desperate to stay alive. I don't want to risk Tobias's life with those mind tricks. He is stronger than I am, but I was lucky to make it out.

"I also packed gas masks," Cara states matter-of-factly, patting the backpack before handing it to Tobias. He slides his arms into the straps. "Both of you will need to wear one because of that serum, and also because you'll be exposed to the knockout gas, Tris."

Tobias and I take a shared, deep breath. That is a lot to process, and we only have another day to prepare for it.

"Any questions?" Cara quips.

With blank stares, we shake our heads. She bids us goodbye, but before she can turn to leave, I say, "You don't owe us anything. So thank you, for helping us."

"We're indebted to you," Tobias tacks on.

"Maybe Erudite will learn this time around, when you expose whatever it is you're trying to find out," Cara nods. "I'm not just doing it for the good of my faction, rather because I do consider us friends."

And here I was stressing about her loathing me and sending us into a trap.

"Good luck to you both."

We part ways, checking each and every direction for bystanders observing us. Tobias slides his hand into mine, but I still feel unsettled as he leads me through the alley and to the platform where the trains run, as if something is approaching. Not like immediate danger, but like impending doom. Something clicks in my state of worry, and I don't understand it until a vague phrase appears in my mind, though I know that it means destruction is coming.

_Here we go again._


	22. Chapter 21

TOBIAS POV

Tris is on edge as she rushes around to gather any equipment we might need. It is a little after midnight now, and we didn't exactly spend most of the day resting, instead keeping our minds preoccupied with other unimportant chores. The anxious buzz we both feel was inevitable, but she seems much too frazzled at the moment; that is not a beneficial thing when going into a situation like this. We both need clear minds.

"Tris, calm down," I say, grabbing her arm when she tries to brush past me again.

She sighs and presses her free hand to her forehead. "I can't," she states. "Not when this could easily go wrong, not when we don't know for sure what we're heading into."

"It's just in and out," I reassure her. "You shut it down, I hack in the computer and copy the information, and we leave. It's that simple."

Shaking out her hands, she nods, trying to calm her nerves. It doesn't seem to help.

I clasp her hands in mine and press a light kiss to her forehead, brushing my lips down to hers. I whisper, "It'll be okay."

It relieves her enough to continue packing her bag, much more pensive. After double-checking that I have everything I need to scale Erudite, a gas mask with a communication device hidden inside, and a hard drive, I remove my gun from the nightstand. I tuck it into my waistband, and then I take my other gun out of the top drawer of my dresser.

"I'm not using it," Tris barks from behind me.

"Just carry it with you," I say, leaving no room for argument. When I hand it to her, she refuses to move. "I highly doubt you'll have to even use it. I would feel better if you had it, just in case."

My words break through her obstinate wall. Uncomfortably, she wraps her fingers around the gun before quickly stuffing it in her backpack.

"We're doing this to help people, but I don't want it to be at the expense of your life."

"Same goes for you," she says, her eyes insistent. "Be careful."

* * *

Erudite headquarters slides into view as a mass of bright lights and glass windows. I pull my gas mask down over my face and get used to breathing in it, testing out the mic soon after.

"Ready?" I say, my voice muffled.

Tris nods and snaps her own mask into place. With one last brush of our hands, we jump off the train, landing on concrete with steady legs.

As soon as we reach the Erudite perimeter, we head around to the south side as Cara suggested. We stay in the shadows to be on the safe side until we reach the outside generators. Right next to them is a vent.

I get to work, slipping into the harness and tightening it around my thighs and trying to ignore Tris's comment about how similar they are to the ones used for zip lining. Then I hook myself up to the cable-like rope so that I am almost set to climb.

Tris pulls out a screwdriver, which she uses to unscrew the bolts locking the air vent closed. When the screws are loose, the sheet of metal falls open to the ground. This is where we part ways.

"Good luck," I bid her. And the war is the reason I regret not kissing her one last time, because I never really know when I might not see someone again. Never should I pass up that opportunity, but there is no time to fix that mistake now.

She nods at me before crouching on her hands and knees to crawl into the metal trap. With a judging stare, I scan the main Erudite building until my eyes land on the second to the top floor, towering over me and barely visible from this lack of height.

I gulp. This is worse than I thought.

Taking aim, I fire the gun-like contraption up to the top of the roof. It is too far up for me to hear a reassuring _clink_, so I tug and test my weight on it until I'm sure it is safe.

Well, as safe as this gear can be.

"Have you started climbing yet?" Tris asks into the mic.

I shake my head before walking to the nearest wall and starting my climb. "Yeah, I'm going."

I haul myself up before realizing that this equipment will basically do the work for me. Still, with my fear it is not that simple to trust anything, so I keep gripping the rope anyway as I take shuffling steps up.

"Okay, just don't look down. If you look down, it will only make it—" She gasps, almost shrieking in fright, and I pause my steps.

"_Tris_?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she breathes out. "I almost fell into a shaft. I didn't even see it."

"All right, just be careful," I chastise her. "Watch where you're going."

Which is exactly what _I_ should avoid doing. I glance down despite my own silent warning and even though I am a couple stories off the ground, I have to look away before my stomach churns.

Knowing that this will be impossible without a distraction, I pretend like I am climbing the Ferris wheel with Tris. I take it one reluctant step at a time and imagine that she is right above me, needing my support in case she slips like she almost did the first time.

This time I am much safer though, with the proper gear preventing me from falling to my death. I focus my attention on those minuscule details next: how my boots grip the brick beneath them, how thick the rope I am clinging to is. Inching up the building, second by second, I think I have made decent progress.

"How far are you?" Tris asks. "I'm at the control room, but I don't want to go in yet if you're not close."

Without thinking, I glance down to check how far I have scaled. And just like that, witnessing the hundred foot drop beneath me, my acrophobia paralyzes me.

My airway tightens so that I can only take shallow breaths that are anything but satisfying. My hands begin to tingle, a sign that they are about to go numb. I am dizzy with fear, and right now, I am not in a simulation where this image is normally created. The ground is miles beneath me. _It's so far down_.

"Tris, I'm having a bit of trouble..." I breathe, staring straight up at the sky in hopes that I won't notice how high up I am. How foolish am I?

"Okay," she says. "Okay. Just concentrate on breathing, and don't look down. Can you count how many windows there are to the top?"

My vision prickles black around the edges as my head swims from the lack of oxygen—this gas mask isn't exactly helping. I squeeze my eyes shut and grit out, "I think I'm panicking."

"Tobias, you cannot pass out," she stresses over the mic.

"I know, I know, I—" Wheezing, I press a hand to my chest to somehow force the pressure out. I cannot go unconscious on the side of this building.

"Justin kissed me," Tris blurts out of nowhere.

My fear dissipates momentarily as her words sink in. "What?!" I exclaim angrily. Not only does that awaken a murderous rage inside me, but is this really the right time to bring this conversation up, when I am stranded in midair and having a panic attack?

"He pulled me aside sometime during the second stage and told me how great he thought I was. I told him he was wrong, and that he barely knew me. Next thing I knew, he kissed me."

As almost all of my terror shifts into fury, I realize what she is doing. She is distracting me from the height. And with my fists clenching around the rope, I think it is working.

"What did you do?" I growl protectively.

"I didn't move, not just because I was shocked. At the time, I was working out my feelings for you, and I wanted to know if it could work with someone like him, or anyone in general." She sighs. "Everything about it was wrong. It was when I finally admitted to myself that I couldn't have anyone else except you, because any other alternative was foreign and uncomfortable."

I find myself relaxing at her words. My lungs clear, the tension is released from my chest. It is strange to think that something good can come from a harmful thing like this, not just her telling me the story but also her figuring out that I am the only one for her from a practical stranger forcing his lips on hers.

"Tobias?"

"Yeah?" I say back, my voice no longer shaky.

"You okay?"

An unsure laugh is expelled from my throat as I press my head against the glass in front of me. "Yeah."

I want to thank her, but then she is already carrying on. "Good. Can you tell me how close you are now?"

My eyes follow the side of the building up to the top. Jeanine's office is unlit like most of the rooms along this wall. When I count, I notice that I am much nearer than I thought.

"I'm about ten below," I answer.

"Okay, I'm not going to respond for a few seconds, so don't worry. I'm throwing the knockout gas in now."

"All right."

After a moment of silence and steady climbing, she returns back to the mic. "I'm in," she confirms. "There were only two in here. Now what do I look for?"

"See if you can find a way to back out of the rotational feed," I say, trying to picture the program in my mind as I take calculated steps. It should be extremely similar if not the same as the Dauntless surveillance system. "Then there should be a tab that will take you to a list of cameras."

Tris searches as I reach the second to the first floor. I wait with my boots pressed to the glass for a further response.

"Got it." I didn't expect anything less; she may not be tech savvy, but she is no doubt intelligent and able to adapt. "So where will I find it? They're marked as numbers and...wait these are floors. One second."

There is a pause while she navigates the system. Irritated by these straps on my legs and the gravitational pull pressing them into me harshly, I ask, "Did you find it?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, now look for an options tab. Is there one?"

"Yes."

"Click it and it will show a 'shut down' option. You have to shut down the cameras just in her office and disable the alarm system."

Only a second passes before she says, "It's done."

"That quick? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I just pressed the option," she states nonchalantly.

Not that I don't trust her, but I'm not entirely convinced that it was that simple. "Tris, are you _sure_?"

She sighs through the communication device. "_Yes_, it's shut down. You can go in now. Do you really think I'd send you into some trap?"

_No, but that's not what I meant_. I take a deep breath and push myself off the glass—swinging—and bend my knees to lessen the impact when I land on it.

Here goes nothing.

I slam my weight into the glass the next time I hit it. It shatters from the impact, and I am relieved when I land in the office on stable ground again with no alarm sounding. As expected though, gas sprays from each corner of the office, filling the room. It filters through my mask with each breath.

Heading over to the main computer, I plug the hard drive loaded with a bug into it. It does its job, leaving an opening for me to hack in the rest of the way.

"How long will this take?" Tris asks.

"A few minutes, I hope."

I type away, unfazed by the time limit. Soon enough I have complete access to Jeanine's computer, and then I begin digging through files to find anything that matches the suicide serum's description.

Eventually I locate it, buried in files. It is labeled _Serum S4._ So I type that into the search bar and quickly copy every file that appears onto the hard drive.

Tris gets increasingly anxious the longer it takes. "Is it done yet?"

"Almost. Hang tight."

The download is completed a minute later. I tell her so, but she doesn't reply straightaway.

"Tris?" I call, pocketing the hard drive.

"I think there are people coming," she tells me quietly. How is that possible?

"What?" When all I can hear is her breathing, I order, "Crawl back in the vent."

"There's no time."

"Get your gun out."

"No, I don't want—"

"You don't have to kill anyone, just shoot their leg or arm." I make my way back to the broken window and check my harness again. I need to get down to her as fast as I can. "Tris, if they take you, I don't know how I could get you back." There are no loopholes around a faction detaining someone they caught messing with their security.

"I'm sorry, Tobias," she whispers, her fear of firing a gun overwhelming her to the point where she would rather give herself up. Shouting can be heard through the mic before it cuts out.

"Tris?" I panic. "Tris!"

I scramble out the window, ignoring my fear completely as I rappel down the side of the building. Heights are the least of my worries now that the Erudite could have captured her. When I close my eyes for fleeting moments so I don't have to look at the ground, I see her cornered by men dressed in blue; I see her being dragged off into a cell; I see her being questioned by Jeanine and taunted by serums.

_I can't let them torture her again._

TRIS POV

Armed Erudite guards burst into the control room, guns raised and expecting a fight.

But I don't give them one.

"Drop the weapon!" one of them shouts.

I do just that. I drop the gun at my feet and kick it towards them with my hands up. Before I can make any sudden movements, two of them rush at me while the other one trains his weapon on me. Tobias yells at me through the mic, promptly being cut off when one of the guards rips the gas mask from my face.

"Tris Prior?"

My eyes slide shut in defeat. There was no doubt that I would be recognized, especially among the faction who tested—and later tried to kill—me. Now if I somehow did manage to escape, they would hunt me down anyway. There is no use in running.

"Search her," the one with the gun commands. They pat me down and delve into my backpack while I clench my teeth to keep from shuddering. The idea of them leading me to my previous, cramped cell where I awaited my death makes me terror-stricken, but I can't show it.

"What were you doing in here?" I am asked aggressively.

I press my lips together and avoid eye contact.

"Fine," one of them sneers. "Be that way. We'll get our answers eventually."

Their fingers dig into my skin as they steer me out of the control room and through the main lobby of Erudite. A few, exhausted onlookers look up from their books and stare curiously at the interaction—it is not every day that they witness a known Dauntless rebel being taken into custody.

Heat builds behind my eyes when we approach the elevator and I remember what Tobias said just moments ago.

_I don't know how I could get you back._

Maybe I should have just fired my own gun, if only to spare him. It makes me sick that I have disappointed him yet again, let him down. I love him, and somehow I keep going out of my way to spite him.

As much as I hope he escaped, I may not see him again if I am locked away, or at least for a long time.

The thought alarms me more than the other consequences of being imprisoned combined. I itch to attempt an escape, but I would get nowhere. So I stay locked in place by the guards until I hear Tobias call out, "Hand her over, and no one gets hurt."

My eyes flash back at him gratefully yet with concern. This isn't much of an intelligent plan, barging in here alone and armed with only a handgun. I guess it is a rhetorical question, but why didn't he just leave me?

"She's coming with us," a guard spits.

"Suit yourself," Tobias says.

A gunshot goes off. Another. Judging by the indistinct screams, he didn't kill them. Paralyzed, I shut my eyelids and block out images of dead bodies clad in gray and my mother and my father and Will, all littered with holes...

My ears ring as I shrink in on myself. He is the only one who can break through my haze.

"...have to run!" Tobias shouts, his eyes alert beneath his gas mask. "Tris, let's go!"

He yanks me into motion, and I can breathe again. Together, we sprint out of Erudite headquarters, making it outside the front doors right before I glance back and see backup chasing after us. I find his hand in the dark and cling to it as we make a break for the train tracks.

There are bullets whizzing past us but they hit the hill beneath our feet, and we are so close to being over it and out of sight. For a few seconds, I think we are safe. I think maybe we got lucky for once in our lives and were able to slip out of their grips—

And then Tobias goes down.

My heart stops beating completely when he collapses with a cry of an obscene word. I don't know where he was shot, but any place isn't good, and how are we going to make it out of here if he can't walk?

All I can do is stare at his slumped body in the dark. And then I spur myself into action because he can't be strong enough for the both of us anymore.

"Tobias," I gasp, fueled only by adrenaline. He moans in response, though who knows if he even hears me. "Tobias, come on. Please get up, please..."

With some coaxing in between his hysterical breaths, I manage to haul him up onto his feet. I sling his arm over my shoulder and let him use me as support as we hobble to the oncoming train.

"Ahhh, shit," he hisses with each step, tearing the mask off his face and tossing it aside.

Once I get him out of here, I can stress about the damage. Right now though, he is alive, and that is all that matters.

"Tobias, you need to help me," I plead, struggling under his weight. The headlights of the train shine on his face, and the shiny patches of tears under his eyes indicate that he is in an immense amount of pain. "As soon as we're on the train, we can get help."

I can't begin to imagine the strength it takes to run alongside a moving train after being shot, but he manages it. When he swings himself in, he crumples into a pained heap against the wall of the car. I quickly slam my hand on the button that closes the door and crouch in front of him.

"Where is it?" I ask, my bottom lip trembling from terror. _Deep breaths_. If I can approach this in a strictly clinical way, then maybe he will have a better chance of surviving.

But this is Tobias; how can I remain detached?

He huffs out shallow pants as he removes the hand plastered to his thigh. His palm is stained a slick red that glistens in the low light. I swallow, hard, and try to get a better look at it before helping him shrug off his jacket.

"It's...underneath," he chokes out. "They got me from behind."

Tobias clenches his teeth when I loop the arms of his jacket around his upper thigh and tie them tight. In order to form more pressure, I make him prop his knee up and force my hands underneath him and up against the bullet wound. A growl forms in his throat and transforms into a helpless groan.

"I'm going to die," he cries, finally allowing a moment of weakness to slip through.

Tears begin to build on the surface of my eyes because I can't say for certainty that his statement isn't true. Without any medical knowledge, I have no idea whether or not he got lucky with the bullet's path. It could have easily nicked a major artery; he could be swiftly bleeding out as far as I know.

The only previous experience that I have is being shot in the shoulder, but these are two different injuries and therefore that information isn't useful.

I shake my head. "You're okay," I snivel. "Tobias, you'll be okay."

With an unsteady hand, he reaches into his pocket and hands me the hard drive containing Jeanine's files. "Take this," he demands, his normally intense eyes unsteady. I curl my fingers around it and pocket it. "And I need to tell you something."

"Stop, you're not going to die."

"No, I need to get something off my chest," he says urgently, dramatically, as if he will pass at any moment. "I lied to you."

"What?" I exclaim. The triviality of that statement is unfathomable. "I don't care! Let's not do this right now—"

"No, I have to say this. It's important that you know. Nobody else does, but you should." The way his eyelids are beginning to droop causes my mouth to snap shut so he can speak without interruption. "I lied to you, when I showed you my tattoo for the first time and you told me that we had to warn the Abnegation."

He lifts his weary gaze to mine, his bloody hand folding over mine. "Tris, I tried to warn the Abnegation. I went to Marcus, who thought it was a ploy. I—agh," he cries out, squeezing my hand when the pain becomes too much. "I left right after. I didn't even try to warn anyone else."

I understand what he is saying without him actually spelling it out for me. He could have made more of an effort to bring the future attack to light to the Abnegation leaders—or the members, or _anyone_—but he didn't. More lives could have been spared if he had...

"I didn't save them, any of them." The guilt claws its way up to his throat, strangling him so that he can barely talk. "It tears me apart on the occasion that I think about it. God, it's all my fault."

Hesitating, I struggle to find the proper words to spit out.

"Shhh, no it's not," I reassure him, placing my sticky, wet hand on the back of his neck. "Don't think about it, okay?"

If he wasn't dying, maybe I would say something different. Ultimately, he wasn't responsible for their deaths anyway. But there is still that part of me that agrees with him, deep down, that he could have partly prevented the massacre if he warned some of our former faction members so they could have escaped in time.

It is something he wholeheartedly regrets though, and this is not the last thing I want to remember him by.

"I'm so sorry." Tobias is beginning to slur his words, and I know this is his goodbye. "For everything. For the way I treated you, for breaking your heart. I hate myself for it."

"No, no, no," I whisper brokenly. I clutch onto him, resting our foreheads together as I sob. "We're almost there, we'll get you help..."

"I love you," he murmurs over my blubbering.

"I love you too. Just hold on for me," I beg.

Concentrating on breathing, he closes his eyes as the train slides closer and closer to Dauntless. The memories of us becoming infatuated in initiation and the times when we leaned on each other during the war repeat in my mind, and it becomes increasingly difficult to hold back my forceful crying. I press his head into my shoulder as I sob into his hair, rocking us, wanting to take back every nasty thing I said to him when I returned to Dauntless. _I should have fallen back in love quicker, why did I waste so much time..._

We were fools to believe that we would turn out all right. When we met in the middle, when we tried to merge that chasm, there was nothing beneath to catch us. Now, we have plummeted straight into that dismal darkness.

* * *

**DONT THROW ANYTHING PLEASE, IM SORRY**

**Ok in reality I'm not. Bad stuff is what makes a good story. :)**

**So I always thought it was interesting that Tobias didn't really think twice about warning the Abnegation after he tried with Marcus in Four: The Traitor, so I wanted to showcase his feelings in this story. He does carry over some anger with them for lying about Evelyn's "death" but I never thought it to be like his character that he didn't blame himself **_**at all **_**when he certainly could have brought the attack to the other leaders' attentions. Just something to think about.**


	23. Chapter 22

TRIS POV

The apartment is stuffy and gloomy when I enter, the summer rain probably having something to do with it. It is barely dawn, though it is difficult to tell with the clouds looming overhead. I watch the heavy drops trickle down the near floor-to-ceiling windows before I remember why I am here.

I sniffle and rub my stinging eyes, finding that I can't seem to shake off the remnants of my harsh crying. I was up all night, and if I didn't have other things to take care of, I wouldn't find it in me to deny my body of its much-needed sleep; the quilt on the bed makes my heart constrict as it simultaneously calls out my name.

In his closet there is a duffel bag. I pull it out and begin filling it with clothes—comfortable shirts, sweatpants, underwear, socks. I won't be back here for a while, so I don't see it as a harmful thing that I take as much as could possibly be needed. That must explain why I take the computer too.

On my way out, I glance back at the bare apartment, desperate to stay. But that isn't a realistic option anymore.

As soon as I step into the hallway, my hood is up and over my head. I keep my face down to conceal it. The Erudite haven't released anything yet as far as I know, but I am not keen on showing my face even before it comes. Who knows how quickly they will find me with just a simple article.

Dauntless is already lively at this time of morning. People bustle about and run through their daily routines. The newly initiated members are probably signing up for their lifelong occupations, or still celebrating their survival. It could have been that easy for me if I had heeded my brother's advice to stay out of trouble.

But reckless is who I am.

I cross the Pit, lingering in the shadows of the rock walls. Nobody pays attention to me and for that I am glad. I go unnoticed by doctors and nurses when I walk into the infirmary too, as they yawn into their coffees and check on patients.

The infirmary is wide and open, since there are too many injuries to account for in Dauntless, and there is no point of walls getting in the way of extra beds. However, I am thankful that the bed I am heading to is the one in the far corner and is sectioned off by a curtain.

Tobias looks the same as how I left him: pale, peaceful, but still lacking consciousness. The doctors had stripped him of his clothes so they could provide life-saving medical help, leaving him clad in only his black boxer briefs. I notice that they have raised his leg with some kind of hanging support in preparation for when he wakes up; with the bullet wound in the back of his thigh, it would be painful to lie flat.

I set the duffel on the floor and take a seat on the creaking chair next to the bed, curling my legs up into my chest.

He was lucky. The doctors told me that I didn't have much reason to be worried about him dying in the first place, even from blood loss. The bullet went straight into his leg and dug itself in, but it managed to miss everything important, even nerves. It was imbedded in the muscle, and he was perfectly safe once they removed it.

Their reassurances did nothing to erase the distress that still hasn't worn off. And it certainly doesn't take back what he told me in his deathlike state.

It was too surreal to think that I was going to move in with him without issues, choose a workplace, settle my life here in Dauntless. This experience—and my inner struggle that accompanied it—served to confirm that. But frustrating as it is, I am more appalled by the tiny, sickening piece of me that wants to put temporary space in between us because of it.

I sigh and reach out for his hand, wondering how I'm going to tell him that I need to leave him. Especially now, when he needs me there for his recovery, however short it may be.

Studying his handsome features, I pretend like nothing is wrong. For a moment I trick myself into believing that he is sleeping in his apartment and I am watching him, watching that absence of stoicism that I usually attribute to him as his bare chest rises and falls.

But the soreness of my muscles—from practically dragging him off the train and to the infirmary—and the hard drive in my pocket pressing into my thigh steer me back into reality. This night did happen, and there is no way to avoid that fact.

My eyes slide shut as I take comfort in how warm his hand is, with life flowing through it. I am so beat that I nearly fall asleep to the repetitive metronome that is the heart monitor right there, sitting up. That is, until I hear his sharp intake of breath that brings me back in a millisecond.

He isn't alarmed to be in the infirmary, or even interested in where he is or what happened. His hand tightens in mine, and his glossy eyes float around the room before settling on me.

"Why are you still here?" he whispers, his voice a slur of painkillers.

I know why he is asking. It baffles him that after what he told me about not warning the Abnegation before their slaughter, that I could still be here for him, love him, after what he did.

And while I am conflicted about it, I have spent the night praying for his life to be spared. I have yet to resolve my feelings; it isn't exactly a priority of mine right now.

He alone is.

"Family look after each other," I reply simply.

We are each other's family, just as he offered to be after we escaped Erudite, in the house where he never had one. We were when I was suffering from life-threatening depression and he rushed to catch me despite our falling out. We were when I pulled him back from fighting. We were family even when we loathed each other, because sometimes families quarrel but eventually they drift back together.

Because it is inevitable—we belong to each other. That bond cannot be severed by past mistakes.

Tobias seems to take comfort in that, calmly resting his eyes while I keep my lips tenderly planted on his forehead.

* * *

"_Two nights ago, two fugitives broke into Erudite, one in the control room and another in a private laboratory. The woman was discovered to be a familiar face from the war: Beatrice 'Tris' Prior of Dauntless_," Tobias reads aloud. "_The man's identity is unknown, but he matches the description of the man involved in the Candor robbery that took place last week. It is speculated that the two cases are connected._

"_What was stolen is unknown. Erudite investigators are currently working to find an answer. In the meantime, the leaders demand that Tris Prior be turned in to the authorities to answer for her crimes. Anybody who comes forward with helpful information will be rewarded_."

Tobias finishes with a pessimistic tone before he sets his computer beside him on the bed. Uncomfortable all of the sudden, he readjusts his leg so that it is propped up higher on a pillow. He is set to return home today—in an hour—but it sounds like I won't be going with him. As I expected.

"I can't be with you," I state obviously. "For the time being, we need to be separated."

Although he purses his lips with distaste, he knows that it is the truth. Unless I want to end up in a prison cell, I need to go into hiding, and it certainly cannot be anywhere near him.

"I just don't know where I can go," I add.

"I have an idea," he says slowly, with his eyebrows furrowed. He reaches for his laptop again. "Stay with your friends, for the time being. In a few hours, I should have something worked out."

Guilt sets in as he types a message to an unknown person. Anyone he manages to find that would be willing to hide me will automatically be branded as a co-conspirator if I am discovered. Is it selfish of me to put someone else in harm's way so that he won't be? I believe so.

"I don't want to leave you," I murmur. Not after I almost just lost him. I wonder if he can hear my throat clogging up.

His conflicted eyes flash up to mine, deep and thoughtful. "Tris. Come here."

I stand, and he pulls me down for a lingering kiss that makes my knees weak. When I close my eyes, I can see us in a safe place where we don't have to ever run. I can see us drawing out the beautiful moments and spending all the time we have together without hastening, like we are certain that peril will find us again.

And then it ends, and I am back in the infirmary. A fugitive kissing a boy with a bullet wound in his thigh because he was foolish enough to come back and rescue me after I dismissed the option to save myself. How ironic—it will end the same anyway, with me locked up.

"It's just for a little while, until we can figure something out," Tobias assures me.

I nod, though I know he is wrong. There is no way out of this in which we end up together. There is no way out of this, period.

A few tears leak out, and I try to wipe them away before he can notice—but of course, he does. It is humiliating that he is the one who was critically injured, and yet I am the one who can't keep it together. I am crumbling under this pressure, and who knows how fast I would lose it if we really did have to split up permanently?

"Tris," he says smoothly. "You're tired; you've been sitting in that chair for over a day. Go to Christina's and get some rest. I'll talk to you soon."

With another assenting nod, I reach into my pocket and hand him the hard drive, just in case. I kiss him one last time, tell him I love him, and leave the infirmary.

I work my way through the back hallways to get to Christina and Dez's shared apartment, cowering at the sound of any voices. It takes a while to get there with this longer route, and I start to feel too exposed after a while, flinching even when a light flickers. Realistically, if someone sees me, even someone who doesn't have a vendetta against me, I will be seized in minutes. It is dire that I stay out of sight.

Once the apartment is one hall away, I let my guard down, walking briskly to get there faster. I turn the last corner and run straight into a chest. My eyes flick up to the man I ran into, and I swallow hard when I recognize him.

Peter. With his hair swept and his malicious, green eyes locked on me. The person who stripped me naked in the dormitory for no other reason than to taunt me; who preyed on the weak during training; who blinded a man he was jealous of; who groped me and hanged me over the chasm; who later saved my life.

"Peter," I greet softly. I draw in a sharp intake of breath out of dread. He has more of a vendetta against me than most of the people in this compound. Without a doubt, he is going to tell. The best bet I have right now is to run...

And where would I get by doing it? Nowhere. Plus I will look like a coward in his eyes, and that is pleasure that I refuse to give him.

"Stiff," he says coldly.

We have a silent standoff as I await my fate. Eventually I see him start to waver, although my eyes must be tricking me. Peter Hayes would never pass up a deal to get in the good grace's of someone powerful, nor to get back at me.

It seems as though I don't know him as well as I thought I did.

"I'm not going to turn you over."

For some reason, the reprieve makes me more tense. "Why?" I ask. If Peter doesn't want to get me arrested, it must be because he means to hurt me in some other way of his own accord. Either that, or he wants me to be indebted to him.

He scowls. "Does it matter? Just get lost before someone else sees you."

I don't need to be told twice. I shuffle away from him and down the hall to my destination.

After knocking once, the door swings open, and I am yanked inside. A surprised yelp escapes me before Christina shushes me.

"Tris, are you crazy?!" she exclaims. "What are you still doing in Dauntless? And why the _hell_ did you break into Erudite?"

I can't get a word out before Dez zeroes in on me as well. "Yeah, seriously! We have been so worried, so this better be the best explanation—"

I hold my hands up and lean forward from my cornered position against the door. "Listen, I have been researching something, something big. I needed to go there for information," I explain, finding it best to leave Tobias's name out of this. "And what do you mean leave Dauntless? I can't—"

"Um, hello? What are you going to do? Hide the rest of your life?" Christina says sarcastically. "You're a fugitive. They're going to start a real search, and they're going to find you sooner or later."

I knew this fact, but how certain she is about my demise bothers me. I scoff, "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"It's true!

"I know, I know..." I ramble, pulling on my hair and taking a seat on their couch. "I can't leave Dauntless though. Not yet."

"Why not?" Dez presses. "What's more important than your life?"

"I have other obligations..." I bounce my knee anxiously and let out a sigh when they stare at me expectantly. "Four got hurt. Bad. I can't leave him like this."

Christina rolls her eyes. "Tris, whatever it is, he can take care of himself. And Dez is right: right now, you need to worry about your own life—"

"He _is_ my life!" I shout, raising myself from the couch. At my unexpected heated behavior, I shake my head and apologize. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay," Dez consoles, ever the Amity. "You're under a lot of stress. We understand."

I slump, defeated. "I just don't know what I'm going to do."

"We'll help you."

"Yeah, anything you need," Christina offers. Then her face tightens into an interrogating look. "But first, you have to tell us what's going on and why you broke into Erudite, and Candor." A knowing glint in her eye lets me know that she has figured out why I borrowed her white shirt a few weeks back.

I hold my tongue for a moment. Telling them is a risk, as they are mostly faction orderlies, not a Divergent rebel like me who questions the leaders; if they don't believe me, then they could think I have finally gone insane and not be so willing to help me anymore. I could damage our friendships if they don't agree. Maybe I can get through to Dez though, on account of her Divergence.

"Okay," I say. "Just keep an open mind."

They nod and wait for my explanation.

"I started looking for information because I didn't believe that the suicides happening around the city were genuine suicides."

I pause, and Dez gives me a bewildered stare. "How can they not be genuine? You mean like someone was forcing them?"

"Exactly. So the deeper I got into the investigation, I found out that each victim has had a puncture in their neck around the time of death..."

Christina nods along before inferring, "It's a serum. Someone is injecting these people with a serum that makes them kill themselves."

"You believe me?" I ask, shocked. I suppose I didn't give my friends enough credit.

"Why not? It sounds believable." She shrugs. "Much more believable than the stories they're feeding us about chain suicides."

"Yeah, that's too much of a coincidence to be true, now that I think about it," Dez adds, and I blow out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "So what did you find out?"

My mind drifts to the hard drive that is now in Tobias's care again. "I don't know yet," I state. "I was going to use the Erudite information to find out who is using the serum, but I haven't had a chance to look."

We let the important moment sink in, leaving each other to our own speculating thoughts. Eventually Dez mumbles something about checking the news before collapsing on her bed and scrolling on her hand-held device.

"Look, Tris. I don't want to sound like a terrible friend, but it's dangerous for us for you to be here," Christina says carefully.

I nod along. "I know. I'm going to leave as soon as I can. Four said he was working on finding a safer place for me to stay."

Nosy as she is, she questions me on him. "How did he get hurt, anyway?"

With some hesitation—it isn't every day that your boyfriend gets shot, and I don't want to outright confirm that he is involved—I say, "He, uh..."

Luckily, I don't get to respond. Dez calls us over, claiming to have urgent information.

"You might want to hear this."

After a pause, Christina urges, "Well, spit it out!"

"_Due to the most recent suicide—number sixteen, Harry Stevenson of Dauntless—the Abnegation and other government leaders have declared a state of emergency. The city will now be placed under strict martial law, with soldiers guarding each faction. Nobody will be able to enter or exit a faction without special permission for the time being. This is a temporary arrangement until the government can get a handle on what is happening in regards to the chain suicides_."

It is so silent in the room we could hear a pin drop. The reporters can play this lockdown down all they want, but we all know what this means, because we have been here before.

Conflict is brewing.

And just wait until the factions find out that these suicides are involuntary. Eventually there will be someone to point fingers at, and that will inevitably lead to bloodshed.

"Tris," Dez pipes up.

I raise my eyes to hers.

"If you have to get out of the compound...I'll go with you."

"You can't both leave me!" Christina cries out to lighten the mood.

But in reality, we just may have to. So I take her up on her offer because it could come down to it.

"Okay," I say, oblivious to her reason for wanting to leave. "Deal."

* * *

TOBIAS POV

Someone bangs on the door, a sign of danger.

Ignoring the searing burn in my leg, I groan and push myself off the bed as quick as possible. For all I know, it could be Tris, despite the fact that Zeke helped her settle down in his mother Hana's apartment not an hour ago. So I hobble over on my crutches with haste in case it is her seeking refuge from the exposed hallway.

I don't expect Hunter, flanked by Dauntless soldiers, to be on the other side of the door.

"Hunter," I say, catching my breath. It really is challenging to get around without the use of one of my legs.

"Four," he greets curtly. "We're going to need to come in and search."

It is unspoken what he is looking for—who he is looking for. I'm glad that Tris left when she did, especially since I am positive that their next stop will be at her friends' apartment.

"Okay," I oblige. With some struggle I move out of the doorway and allow the soldiers to pass.

They begin tearing my apartment open, looking under the bed and in the closet and even searching cabinets in the kitchen that could fit a small girl like her. I stand awkwardly and stiffly, leaning on my crutches for support. The bullet wound has dulled to an ache, but it is still there, gnawing because of my earlier movement.

"I'm going to need you to tell me about Tris Prior's whereabouts," Hunter demands, crossing his arms. "I know you two are very close, against my orders not to fraternize with initiates outside of training."

I shake my head and begin spitting out words that aren't true. Now is the time to lie, if I want to keep both of us safe. "Don't talk to me about that crazy bitch," I huff.

"Excuse me?" He raises both eyebrows at the foul word I attribute to her.

"She has gone completely insane," I fib. "That thing in the news? I have no idea what has gotten into her, but she has finally lost it." I gesture down to my helpless leg and raise my temper. "You see this leg? Yeah, we were having an argument a couple days ago, and I walked away from her, and she _shot_ me with my own gun."

He seems to have a hard time believing me, but I don't worry about it. He won't find any incriminating evidence here because the hard drive is stashed away well, and he certainly won't find Tris.

When the pain flares up again, I work my way over to the kitchen counter where several small tubes of yellow serum lie—the medication I was given. I pick up one and click it into a syringe.

"It honestly doesn't surprise me that she did this. I have been waiting for her to snap since the war, and it has finally happened," I continue.

With a miserable sigh, I insert the needle into my neck and press down on the plunger. The healing serum flows through my veins, speeding up the healing process while simultaneously relieving my bullet wound.

"Then you would help me?" Hunter assumes. "If you know something about the break-in or where she could be, then you need to tell me, Four."

To make my performance more convincing, I play his game. "She was close with Christina, Dez, and Justin during initiation. Other than that, I can't give you anything. Those are the only places I know of that she could have gone to." I don't feel too badly about throwing all of them under the bus. If they are smart, then they will claim to know nothing and will be cleared with a search.

He nods, corroborating my statement. "We are on our way to their apartments after this stop."

When he doesn't mention anything about Uriah, I am less unsettled. It is best that I steer them clear of the Pedrads for now.

Hunter nods at his soldiers, and they begin filing out of the room. "Thank you for the help, Four. We'll catch her soon enough."

I flash a grimace at him, filled with agony. I have been standing for too long. "Anytime," I say smoothly before I shut the door behind him.

Slumping against the door, I allow this information to sink in. If they are really going after Tris this fervently that they would check the apartment of each and every person associated with her, then she is not safe here. She will never be safe here, in Dauntless. And if she can't even show her face, then what is the point of staying holed up here?

As much as the thought pains me, she will have to go. And with martial law declared, the city is tense again, on the verge of another battle. She will be far from my protection, traveling in between factions at least once.

What this means for us is that I don't think we will be seeing much of each other ever again.

I feel my chest constrict at my conclusion.

* * *

TRIS POV

I meet Tobias at our secret spot near the bottom of the chasm, the place we first kissed, after two in the morning. Just as he instructed.

He sags against one of his crutches, the other leaning against a nearby wall. He looks haggard, frightened, a combination that I have surprisingly never seen on him.

"Did you pack everything you need?" he asks. Not waiting for a response, he pulls his gun out of his waistband and hands it to me, the metal cool against my fingertips. "Take this with you."

I nod, a lump in my throat, and slide the backpack off my shoulders so I can stuff it in.

We both know that this is the only possible way that I can avoid a prison sentence. It doesn't make leaving any easier.

"Don't tell me where you're going to go," he says as my eyes try to memorize every inch of his face. "If they were to come back to me for information and used truth serum, then it wouldn't be beneficial for me to know where you are. You weren't followed?"

"No. I only brought Dez, who is coming with me." She had explained that now that she has passed Dauntless training, her only goal is to protect her mother and sister back in Amity. That is where we will blend in, among the joyful people who will lie to keep us safe.

We slip back into a solemn silence. My heart races, a sign that tears are on their way. I try to distract myself from the impending split by switching the topic to something more unfeeling.

"Did you sift through the information we got?" I question. I would like to know, since I am not sure I will ever find out without him to tell me.

He shakes his head. "Not yet. I pulled it up once, but there was so much coded language and maps I didn't recognize. It will take a little more time."

I stare at the ground as I kick at loose pebbles, unwilling to let him see my wet eyes.

"This is for the best," he deadpans, and I know that he is being cold to keep me at a distance so that this won't hurt so much. "I had soldiers knock down my door today, Tris. You can't stay here."

The tears fall, steadily dripping onto the stone underneath my feet.

"Who knows, maybe this whole thing will blow over. Maybe another war won't happen. Maybe it will, and nobody will care about what you did."

He is just trying to be optimistic, but it makes matters worse. If another war doesn't happen, I won't come out of hiding. If it does, then it is possible that either of us could die. It is a lose-lose circumstance in which we will not be together.

Or there is a third option: I am imprisoned. Life passes me by as I complete my sentence, and Tobias moves on without me.

"Tris, are you crying? Please don't cry," he chokes out. "This is hard enough as it is."

My sobbing is hideous, my face scrunched up and my cries high-pitched. He pulls me in close and I cling to his strong shoulders and I _can't_ leave him, how could I?

He is the only man I have loved; he is the only man I will ever love.

And now we have to part ways.

"I never wanted this," I hiccup, retracting from his embrace. "Tobias, I wanted to settle down with you, away from all of this mess. I wanted to start a family with you; it's all I've ever wanted."

He swallows, tears gathering in his own eyes. This is the second time I have seen him cry in our time together, the first being when he emerged from the simulation and realized that he had nearly taken my life. "God, I wanted that too," he says, and he can barely get the words out.

For what could be the last time in my life, I stand on my toes and crush my lips to his. My shaking hand slides into his hair, the other around the back of his neck. His lips silence my cries of anguish as I recall every tender moment where we kissed. Our first one was in this very spot, excited and carefree, and looking at us now I wonder how it always spirals out of control.

The world must hate us. We can never be happy.

My sobbing is hysterical when we pull away, frantic breaths entering and exiting while my heart beats incredibly fast. I keep us close together to savor the feel of him pressed against me. He breathes out words into the space between us, but my eyes stay clamped shut and my forehead pressed to his.

"Tris," he murmurs in a low, pacifying voice. "I need you to be brave for me."

"I can't be brave without you," I eek out.

He has been there, my strength, each time I needed him. When he climbed the Ferris wheel below me; when I faced my worst fears; when my parents died; when I killed my friend; when I was tortured; when I suffered from countless nightmares in the aftermath. How do I survive when my reason to fight will be gone?

"You'll find a way."

Exhaustion catches up with me, and I collapse back into him, swaying on my feet. My crying slows as I remember the bittersweet moments between us where the world was ending yet we were okay. That is how I thought it would be: the world going up in flames around us, and even though we had to watch, we could do it together.

"We don't know what will happen," he tries to point out. "Maybe we will meet again."

It is a pathetic attempt at calming me—we know it is false—but I still play along. "Yeah," I whisper. "Take care of yourself, okay?" And I am not just talking about his bullet wound. I hope he knows that when he nods.

His lips call me back again, and I kiss them for only a second, determined not to get attached again so I can't leave. I wipe away the tears on his cheeks with my thumbs, and his breaths are stuttered.

"I love you," he tells me. It is the last thing he says.

I squeeze my eyes shut so I can rein in the pain of this breakup. "I love you, Tobias."

Through the blurry tears, I imprint his face into my memory for the last time. The intensely dark eyes, the long eyelashes that stick together from crying, the eyebrows that are pulled taut, the frowning mouth I know by every brush. I skim my fingers over the faint scar on his chin, and his lips part in response.

It is time to go.

I force myself to step back and pick up my bag. With a glance over my shoulder at his tall, lean figure, I have to hurry up the path and out to the train tracks where my friend awaits so that I don't turn around and run straight back to him.

Our time together was a brief spark, a flash of what could have been. Just as before, we were not fortunate enough to make it to that future. Secrets and war always find a way to drive a wedge in between us, so maybe we wouldn't have made it if I stayed anyway.

I doubt that I will ever see Tobias Eaton again. But at least I had the chance to fix things between us, to make more memories to hold me together now.

I think it is fitting that our love story should begin and end at the chasm.

**End of Part 1  
**

* * *

**Thanks so much for following and favoriting and reviewing this story! The next book in this series is called "Pit", and I will have it posted separately soon! Keep an eye out for it! ;)**


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